


reach out the car window (trying to hold the wind)

by kitkattaylor



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Cheeky, Confident, Drugs, Femme, Flirty, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Stripper, Summer, Twink, carpenter - Freeform, city kid, countryside, fashion - Freeform, single mother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-04-27 12:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14425716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkattaylor/pseuds/kitkattaylor
Summary: a city kid dan & flirty carpenter phil





	1. Socks and sandals

Dan has always been a heavy sleeper. Neither a pretty one. You’d think the rocky jerking of the vehicle would wake him as it trundles down the path. Especially considering how he’s smushed against the car window, headphones clattering on the glass and sunglasses bouncing down his nose. Alas, as the car rolls to a stop and his mum slaps him awake, his first impression has clearly been made, drool and all, on the man outside who quickly averts his gaze, smiling.

Like a mole stumbling from the darkness, Dan extracts his long, gangly limbs from the foot well and throws them over the chair in front (goddamn car with its two doors.) He knows he looks a fright but he can’t find the motivation to care; he’s grumpy and interrupted. His lips are all dry and chapped and his clothes feel sticky where he’s been sleeping in the sun. He also aches like the elderly. (Twenty-two  _is_  fast approaching, and twenty-two is three years from twenty-five, which is five years from  _thirty_. Retirement calls.)

Leg by leg, Dan climbs out of the car. He stands up shakily and daintily pushes the sunglasses up his face. They’re bug-sized, obscuring half of his features, which quite frankly Dan is grateful for right now. His mum is already being strangled by the embrace of a particularly colourful woman in a poncho (presumably his great aunt.) She has socks on with her sandals. Dan tries not to cringe. This town can’t have ever seen anything like him before.

Which is exactly what Phil is thinking, having observed the two tanned, gorgeous legs, stretching out into the evening sun. The boy is just a little bit magnetising, in his dirty platform converse, short black overalls, ripped on purpose and strap dangling on one side. Beneath it he wears a grey t-shirt, which seems to fade into hot pink at the centre, a band logo, matching the pink plastic clips that hold back his fringe. He doesn’t think Phil notices him slyly checking Phil out from behind his Hollywood-size sunglasses. But Phil does, and smiles on purpose to let him know. He’s rewarded with the cutest startled jump and lip bite.

Dan wills the heat to leave his body. He tries not to fidget. It’s not just the man  _over there_ : it’s everyone else too. Dan can feel all the eyes quietly observing his outfit. He’s too sleepy and dazed to be truly self-conscious though. He just rolls his eyes behind his glasses and vows to stamp his foot harder next time. He is a grown adult, after all, despite what his mum thinks. Grown adults shouldn’t be dragged by their mum to the furthest place from WiFi for the  _entire summer._ He misses the city already. No one told him everywhere would smell like literal shit.

Soon Dan is ushered over by his mum to greet the line-up of people. He can feel  _those eyes_ watching him as he’s hugged and shook and squeezed by these total strangers. When the pretty woman with questionable patterned leggings (Izzy) introduces her daughter (Maisie) and her daughter’s friend,  _Phil,_  Dan gets his first real chance to properly check the man out without appearing creepy. He’s not usual. He’s pale with rather blue eyes, slightly ginger hair, and a sloping figure beneath his sloppy, woollen jumper. Large hands. Hm. Izzy mutters after a pause that ‘ _You’ll be seeing him on and off while you’re here, he’s working for my husband,’_  and Dan smiles politely and nods.

“Hi.” Phil throws open his arms. Dan hesitates a tiny bit but obliges, allowing himself to be swept up in the man’s arms. He squeezes Dan and lifts him from the ground. Dan squeals and blushes hotter, despite all effort. He stumbles as he’s put back down and the man  _laughs_ , one hand slipping to his lower back. Izzy glances at Phil, sharing something disapproving in her eyes.

“Like your glasses,” Maisie interrupts Dan's cringing. She has a sweet voice. She points with her hand hidden by her sleeve. “Can I try?”

 _No,_ Dan thinks, but takes them off. The light is brighter than he’d anticipated and he scrunches his face up. “Fuck that’s bright,” he blurts before he can censor himself. Thankfully, Izzy laughs, if a little thrown. He can  _feel_  Phil smiling again. Why does his smile permeate through him like that? Maisie’s head is small so the glasses look ridiculous on her. Phil bends to see with his hands in his pockets and laughs. He slips the glasses from Maisie’s face and tries them on himself. He stands back with his arms crossed and his jaw squared. Dan blinks. He’s weird. Fuck.

“How do I look?”

The question is directed at Dan, but Dan fumbles to answer so it’s Maisie who teases ‘ _Not as good as Dan_ ,’ snatching them from Phil’s disgruntled expression to return them. Dan cradles them between his hands. He’s begun to stand a little awkward, the toe of his shoe circling in the dirt. He's cooler than this.

“Like your shirt too. And your hair clips.”

Dan smiles genuinely at the hint of admiration in the girl’s voice. Looking at her again he suddenly has a burning desire to makeover her (but maybe that’s rude.)

“Thank you!” Dan replies, head tilted and hand raised to shield his eyes. He pulls the shirt from his body. “It’s my mate’s band. And these are designer  _Waitrose_ brand Christmas cracker hair clips, circa 2007.” Unclipping one clip, he gives it to Maisie, who gestures for him to put it in her hair. He’s careful to place it nicely.

(Is Phil staring at him again?!)

Dan’s Great Aunt rubs her hands, rallying the group inside to prepare dinner. Hearing the boot open, Dan turns (to take a deep breath) to retrieve his bags. He puts his sunglasses back on because he needs both hands. He’s like a fucking buckaroo. He’s got his suitcase, his rucksack, his laptop bag,  _and_  two canvas bags. Apparently, Phil hadn’t wandered inside like the others, because while Dan is unabashedly groaning and cursing, he calls ‘ _Need a hand?’_

“Er...sure! If you’re offering...”

Waddling over, Dan holds out the canvas bags.

“This is shoes...and this is, um, clothes.”

Phil takes them with an amused frown. He peers into one bag.

“You have heels,” he states.

Dan heaves the rucksack on his shoulder higher. He hadn’t properly registered Phil’s words because he was thinking  _what the fuck did I put in this bag to make it so heavy?!_ When they dawn on him, however, he snaps to defence.

“Yeah?”

It’s sour on his tongue. Phil shrugs all lopsided and adorable. The defence is reflex. Dan lifts one arm awkwardly to scratch his nose.

“Got to be prepared for every occasion, haven’t I?” Phil still looks amused. “Like what if we go to dinner or out dancing?”

“Well, I can’t dance but it was nice of you to think of me.”

Dan stares at him stupidly before understanding hits him. He makes an ugly scoff sound to cover up his embarrassment, then waves his hand in front of his face, which is just about the gayest thing he could do.

“You’re just saying that because I’d be taller than you in those.”

Phil grins. The breeze rustles through his hair and Dan’s belly swoops. He can’t move his eyes away, like, physically.

“I’m not intimidated by you.”

Dan’s about to say ‘ _should be’_ without thinking it through  _at all_ , when mercy be, his mum interrupts. She asks if Dan ‘can manage this too’ but plonks the bag on his shoulder before he can answer. Phil slowly walks on in front of them, the setting sun draping over him. He carries the two bags on either shoulder and for some reason it makes Dan’s heart thud. His mum begins chattering about how nervous she is for the presents his great Aunt has bought her (‘ _what if it’s a bloody poncho?’_ ) and complaining as much as Dan is in his head about the abundance of grass and mud. Dan replies in a hushed voice (‘ _ungrateful much, mum_ ’), not wanting Phil to overhear their conversation in case something incriminating comes up.

The house looms ahead, large and stony, windows glowing. He doesn’t want to be here. He was  _forced_ to come. And yet he can’t deny the prick of warmth sparking in his heart. His brain is noisy, too noisy. Though he is literally  _inhaling_ shit, the long summer days stretch out before him, no responsibilities, no drama- And, yes, he could  _totally_ get bored. But maybe Dan needs the space. The quiet. (Or maybe he needs the Phil-shaped thing currently turning to wink at him, because the boy winks too, apparently, and Dan has no bloody chance.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a dream! wrote this entire plot at 4am
> 
> Title from a mitski song


	2. Instruments of witchcraft

_No boys._ That’s what Dan repeats, in his head. Says it aloud once, when he passes Phil on the stairs and thinks he can feel eyes lingering on his ass. Maybe he imagines it. He’s just used to it, is all. _No boys_ , he whispers, dropping his bags unceremoniously on his new bedroom floor. Phil had placed his neatly. Dan kicks them, stupidly.

He’s all nervous and irritated. He gets his finger caught in the loop of his laces and huffs and puffs ridiculously, dramatically tugging the laces undone. Of course  _Phil_ has to be behind him, paused in the doorway to the dining room, head tilting back at Dan. He raises his eyebrows and Dan wants to scream. He actively has to bite his tongue and stomps purposefully down the hallway until he realises how stupid that is. How stupid it all is. How simple is it to not have a crush, for once? To _not_ be an emotional mess?

Phil is lovely and helpful, now carting bags of food and drink in from Izzy’s car. Dan stands in the midst of everyone for a moment, tapping his foot. He watches Phil go twice in and out (ahem) before gathering himself and offering his help. The kitchen is bustling with Izzy and his great aunt and his mum (who casts an exaggerated shocked expression his way, fuck off-) and he leans awkwardly for a few seconds until his great aunt shoves a bottle of wine in his arms. “ _You_ can serve the wine,” she beams, patting his arm as Maisie buzzes in to grab more cutlery.  

The house isn’t ginormous but it has very high ceilings. It sort of feels medieval, with the wooden beams and stone floors, like a different house compared to the floral and carpeted bedrooms upstairs. The dining table is huge and looks like a hunk of tree balanced on legs. Around it are already sat all three neighbours (Dan’s never known his neighbours, only heard their terrible music and crying babies and awful sex noises-) and his great aunt’s brother (he really should learn their names.) They’re discussing one of the weird foreign objects that are displayed in the hundreds around the room. It’s cold too. And dark. There’s a big fireplace but no one’s thought to light it. Hesitating, Dan dashes out before anyone sees him. He skips (with the wine) back upstairs in search of a jumper.

The first one he pulls out (effectively ruining his packing, if it weren’t already so shoddy) is half mesh and the second has ‘ _bad bitch_ ’ adorned in sequins. The third is just grey but has extra long sleeves. He goes with it, shoving it over his dungarees. It’s unfortunate, but expected by now, that Phil should appear clutching a stack of firewood, eyes immediately falling to the wine swinging in his hand. Dan pauses at the bottom of the stairs. He’d rather a snide comment be made like _planning on a fun night_ or _did you hide that in your underwear,_ but all Phil does is raise his eyebrow again. Dan stares back defiantly. God, it really is dark in this house.

“Go on,” Phil smiles, nodding in front of him. Slipping his hand around the banister, Dan daintily steps down when Phil suddenly reaches for his face. Sudden light shocks him and he’s all too quick to blush when Phil passes by, smirking at the sunglasses moved onto his head. He'd been wearing sunglasses this whole time?! Dan shoves them crossly onto a nearby cabinet. _Stupid._ Fixing his hair, he sighs heavily and holds the wine carefully to his chest. No more stupid, no boys.

He serves the wine like a real waitress, carrying his voice haughtily as he makes offers around the table. He even throws in a subtle twist of his wrist, the way he’s seen waiters do it, and the crowd seem impressed. (He wonders if Phil is impressed, how he sticks his butt out a little further when he stands near the fireplace.) He ignores the muttered comments like ‘ _is this how city boys dress these days’_ and _‘girls with boy’s hair too, makes it hard to tell the difference!’_ Dan is polite and graceful, though the ignorance does make him conscious of his exposed knees and shins.

Phil sits down at the same time Dan does, both at the end of the table.

“Aw, have I missed the excellent service?”

“I’ll drop the bottle on your head.”

He doesn’t think before saying it. Once it’s out there, however, he sticks with it, busying himself with pouring his own wine. He can feel the eyes watching him. He pours his glass much fuller than the rest and takes a good sip. Phil sits forward with his chin on his hands, watching. Dan frowns.

“What?”

“Cheers, everyone!” Dan’s great aunt chimes. Everyone reaches around to chink glasses, laughing when they have to stretch across the great gulf that is the table. Dan and his mum don’t bother, simply raising their glasses and sharing a look (one that means ‘ _Surviving?’_ )

“Eyes, Philip!” Maisie laughs, and Dan observes the two of them leaning close and sharing intense eye contact as they cheers. Maybe he’s got the wrong end of the stick.

Nah.

Phil turns to him with a cheeky expression.

“Eyes,” he challenges, holding out his glass. Dan juts out his chin and raises his own. Phil doesn’t have to know how difficult a challenge it truly is. He doesn’t have to know that maintaining eye contact (specifically, that _look_ Phil is giving him) makes his heart speed up and his insides twist. He even raises a cool eyebrow of his own afterwards, as if to say _‘Was that supposed to be hard?’_

Dan is nothing but a performer.

As dinner is cooked, they snack on bread and olives and someone decides it’s a great idea to bring out a game of Jenga. Dan encourages it, anything to avoid the beginning of Maisie’s questions – ‘ _So what do you do, Dan?’_ (He shrugs, replies ‘ _Career break.’_ ) The game starts gentle, with people chatting through their turns, but by the time someone would usually have made it collapse, Phil and Dan keeps it going. The older diners laugh and back out, claiming shaky hands, leaving an ever more precarious tower to Phil, Maisie and Dan. 

“No! I can’t handle anymore. Why are you so good?!” Maisie whines, whose been complaining since about round four. She’s desperate not to be the one to make it fall.

“Good with my hands,” Phil smirks, showing said hands to the table. No one seems to get the innuendo, in fact they just laugh and nod. Dan is horrified. Miraculously, Maisie successfully takes a brick, though she nearly grabs the tower with both hands. Eyes turn to Dan, accompanied by the quiet tension of a tennis match. Phil smiles slyly.

“Your turn,” he remarks unnecessarily, his voice sweet. Dan scowls before concentrating. They’ve already reduced a few layers to singular bricks, and Dan has daringly stripped the bottom. Now he goes after a side piece. The crowd gasps in unison as the tower wavers. The piece is stubborn but Dan has too much pride to give up. He nudges it gently. Everyone holds their glasses higher.

“Boo!” Phil whispers. Dan determinedly ignores him. “Oh- Oh!” Dan would swat him for the inappropriate edging sounds, but he is otherwise occupied. The crowd silences; one man stands up. Stupid fucking long sleeves. Dan has the brick clinging on by a corner. Delicately, and beautifully (if he does say so himself), he withdraws it, as if he had simply been putting on a show, as if there had been no pressure, no danger, and he hadn’t been mildly terrified. He places it neatly on the top.

“Worried?” He mimics Phil’s sweet voice. Phil draws his eyes up from Dan’s fingers to his eyes. Maisie is watching from behind her hands. The man who’d stood up rubs his hands and cackles.

“Try me.”

Dan finds it hard not to admire the boy’s hands as he grazes his finger along the edge of the tower. His search is slow and deliberate, his touch purposefully soft. Dan can’t be blamed for how his mind wanders; he’s being provoked. Dan flicks his eyes to Phil’s mouth, where his bottom lip is caught beneath his teeth. Dan finds himself copying, biting his own without thinking. Phil doesn’t move his eyes, but he smiles.

The tower feels as though it would fall at the slightest breeze. The tension mounts; someone’s stomach growls. And then Dan’s great aunt bursts into the room, in a cloud of steam, oven gloves wielding her giant pasta bake, and remarks “Oof! It’s hot in here!”

The tower tumbles. It crashes across the table to a chorus of groans and a high pitched squeal from Maisie. His great aunt waits for the last brick to fall onto the floor and then laughs. “Well, I should hope dinner will make up for it.” And with that she places the tray down and Izzie follows out, arms full of salad bowls.

Dan helps to pick up the fallen bricks. As he’s on his knees under the table, pretending he hasn’t bashed his head and swallowed a cry of pain, he meets Phil’s eyes. They seem brighter, in the shadows. Above them, Maisie is sweeping the rest of the bricks from the table. The noise thunders on the wood, thankfully drowning out the loudness of Dan’s heart. He swallows it too from his throat.

“You lost.”

Again, he doesn’t think before he says it. His voice is strangely low and gravelly. Both their hands are paused.

Something about Phil’s eyes reminds him of the look boys get before they kiss him. But he doesn’t. He finds the rest of the bricks while Dan stares dumbly, and then looks up again. He lingers before speaking.

“Maybe I’ll win the long game.” He practically whispers it. He leans in far too close and gently scoops the three measly bricks from Dan’s hands. It’s ridiculous, how the brush of flesh stirs so much feeling inside him. 

Phil stands up before Dan has stopped staring at the space where Phil’s eyes were. He bashes his head (again) when he moves. When he surfaces, it’s like they’d never shared such an intense moment. Dan picks at his food despite being hungry. The words _‘maybe I’ll win the long game’_ taunt and excite him. With all the butterflies in his stomach, there’s no room for food.

“So I never got to hear what it is you do, Dan?” Maisie asks, eyes innocent. “You said career break,” she continues, reaching for her drink. “But what is it you did? Or plan to do?”

Phil glances at him too. The second question is easier.

“I’m figuring that out myself.” He tries to say it casually, like he doesn’t care. Even laughs a bit. “Mum thinks being here might help me. Bit of quiet, you know...”

Maisie nods. She thinks for a second. “Did you study?”

“Law.” He notes the surprised look on Phil’s face. Blinking down at his plate, he shoves a mouthful of food onto his fork. For a few blissful minutes, everyone eats and no one talks. He thinks of questions himself, eager to move the conversation to someone else, but Phil beats him to it.

“What are you passionate about?”

It’s a deceivingly simple question. What is Dan passionate about? Sex. Food. Boys. That’s sex again. He panics a little.

“Art.”                                                       

Phil nods slowly. “And fashion is art too, right?” He trails his eyes up Dan’s body.

“Exactly!” Dan's voice is a little too eager. He regrets it when Phil looks pleased to have found Dan’s sweet spot. He adds more quickly, before Dan can change the subject.

“Though I think heels look like torture devices.”

At that, Dan can’t stop himself from talking once he starts. Maybe it's the wine. 

“Did you know men first wore heels? In ancient Greece they wore them on stage to show status, and in Egypt they’re thought to have been a way of getting closer to God. Persians used them as riding shoes and that bought them to Europe, where Louis XIV revolutionised them. The Christian Louboutin crimson soles are actually in reference to Louis’s trademark red-painted heel. _Women_ first wore them as _Chopines_ , or _Okobo_ in Japan, designed to keep their dresses off the ground. Then they were outlawed because prostitutes adopted them and because they caused traffic accidents, literally. But see fashion is never just fashion. Heels are about power, and sex. Did you know Puritans in America banned them because they thought they were instruments of witchcraft?”

"Wow." Maisie blinks. "You're like a textbook." 

Phil’s smile slips into a grin. All the while Dan had been talking, Phil had listened carefully, eyes trained on Dan’s lips. The glimpse of teeth breaks Dan out of his trance. He blushes deeply to the tips of his ears.

“But you are probably bored to death...” He shovels food in his mouth, talking around it. “Don’t mind me getting hard over some shoes, you go talk about other things, I’ll just...be quiet-“

“No, I like hearing you talk.”

Phil’s voice is so soft, Dan’s heart jumps to it. He swallows with difficulty.

“If I talk more my food will go cold.” Phil laughs. Dan doesn’t do well with sincerity. He waves his fork at Phil. “Tell me about you. What do you do?”

He avoids the warmth in Phil’s eyes by scooping up more food. He desperately needs space to compose himself. Fuck, when did sauce get on his sleeve? Fuck fuck, _why is my heart beating that fast?_

“Well,” Phil clears his throat, “I’m a carpenter. Currently helping Maisie’s dad restore his shed. A tree fell on it. But I’m trained in making furniture and instruments. I also like sculpture.”

_Good with his hands._

“That’s cool,” is all Dan can muster in response. He’s not thinking about plaid shirts and sweaty chests and suspenders. Rippling muscles and rough hands lifting logs above their heads. Maybe that’s lumberjacks. He’s not thinking about it anyway.

Dinner and dessert passes with the babble of Maisie and ends with Phil taking Dan’s plate to the kitchen. Which is...which is _fine._ Not really fucking endearing at all. He doesn’t return and when Dan stands up he notices he’s outside with a pair of barking dogs. Which is also fine, Dan isn’t desperate to join him or anything. He doesn’t need to see his soft, happy expression cuddling dogs who adore him (doesn’t want to think about being cuddled by those lanky arms himself.) He stays outside, helping jump-start one of the neighbour’s car, and Dan wonders if he’ll come back at all, when his voice appears behind him in the kitchen.

Dan if helping dry the dishes, if for no other reason than to keep him preoccupied. He almost drops one dish with the shock.

“I’ll be heading off now.”

Izzy speaks over the slosh of the washing up. “Oh it was lovely to have you Phil! Will we see you tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow,” (Dan almost sighs) “but Thursday yes. Thank you for the meal, my belly is very happy right now.”

Dan’s Great Aunt ( _Mary_ ) presses her wet hands into her apron and opens her arms to Phil. He bends down to hug her.

“You get home safe.”

Phil catches Dan’s eye as Mary lets him go. Does he expect a hug from Dan? Not fucking likely.

“Nice to meet you, Dan.”

Does he have to say his name like that?!

“You too.”

He moves close, eyes shining, and squeezes Dan’s shoulder. Dan notices the look Izzy gives him, the same as the one she’d shared after he’d picked Dan up for the hug. She starts to mouth something so Dan turns and hangs his head, drying the plate. He sees Phil throw up his arms in the corner of his eye. Dan almost smiles to himself.

With the party gone, Dan showers (for too long to be considerate), brushes his teeth and flops onto his bed. The portable radiator in his room makes it too hot to wear a shirt. He’s staring at the ceiling, mulling over the evening’s events (the main event being one ginger-haired, blue-eyed boy) when his mum knocks (but comes in anyway.)

“Settling in?”

She pats his tummy and Dan squirms.

“No.” It’s petulant. “I miss home.”

“You looked like you were settling in.” She leans down and kisses his closed eyelids. Dan rolls onto his side, the words _‘I’m not a child anymore’_ on the tip of his tongue. “I miss seeing you smile and laugh.”

“I smiled and laughed all the time.” He says quietly. Too quiet to be convincing.

Now she kisses his temple. Dan frowns, the words _‘Since when were you so affectionate’_ ready to bite.

“We both need the break. Who knows, maybe Mary will even get me in some welly boots. She’s talking of climbing a hill tomorrow.”

“Does Mary know?”

His voice is a whisper from across the room. His mum dims the light.

“Not everything.”

Dan curls his hands under his chin. At first, the silence of the countryside is unnerving, but slowly he relaxes into the mattress. It's pitch black, whether his eyes are open or not. It's nice. He doesn't have to think. Surprisingly, the dreams find him quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if anyone wanted this instead of goalie, i've started goalie and this other sex thing but this is what i finished first! more to come i guess !


	3. Tree, tree, sheep, flower

Dan never learnt to dance. He got spotted in a club one night and pulled on stage amongst the professionals. Well, everyone loved to touch him. Dan loved to touch himself too, under the hot light, running his fingers over his smooth, sweaty skin... He loved to watch himself. Whether it was during sex, or just alone in the mirror, music throbbing from his speakers, home at 6am, drunk to the new day rising.

Dancing was a thing that didn’t require thought. He just had to move. Sure, he could do the choreography, but he was best at improvising. He was the last act of the night and got the worst of the crowd. Or the best, depending how you saw it. Dan loved the attention. He loved being the tease, the slut. The small room pulsed with adoration and want, arms reaching through the fog, hoping to catch his clothes.

It was his own secret world, one where he was free and confident and in control. Dan was good at it; he was gorgeous, classy and dirty all at once, safe yet reckless, loved but alone. He would tease a waistband or a shoulder, and when he closed his eyes he was gone, just him and his body, his pulse, fucking his hand or fucking the floor, tossing his head, twisting, touching, grinding and bouncing and letting the bass seep deep, deep into his bones, drowning everything, drowning it all...

Oh.

His bare chest is slick with perspiration as he sits up. His heart is racing but it comes down quickly. He squints into the sunlight, the one that has cast a warm spotlight on his chest. Holding back the thin yellow curtains, he reminds himself where he is. Staring at a field. With a hard-on. He hopes he hasn’t been whining.

Reaching beneath the covers, he gets himself off quickly, grinding down into the bed and pumping up a few times into his hand. Staggering onto shaky legs, he hops out of his pants and lets them drop to the floor. That is until he remembers he’s not at home in his flat (it’s not home anyway, he doesn’t _live_ there anymore-) and his great aunt could knock and walk in at any moment with a tray of tea and biscuits or some shit.

He stretches, naked, in the open window. A part of him hopes someone sees, just for the thrill of it, for the shocked, embarrassed look on their face. (A part of him hopes a _certain someone_ sees him, as he bends and dresses slowly.) He pulls on his cropped checked trousers and tucks in a baggy white top with wingdings on it. He doesn’t linger over his hair, because who’s going to be impressed in this godforsaken house, but he flicks it about a little, just for himself (and maybe for that certain someone as well.)

He checks his phone on instinct as he walks down the stairs. When the notifications flood in he remembers why he’s had it on Do Not Disturb. He locks it again without checking anything. He pauses. The silence of the house feels uneasy. It’s not _that_ late...11.30 something. That barely even counts as sleeping in. The floorboards creak and something sizzles in the kitchen. Stepping quietly, Dan peaks his head around to see Aunt Mary frying eggs in a pan.

“Hello dear,” she calls without looking. Spooky. Dan edges into the room and slides into a chair around the ginormous dining table. It seems even bigger without the crowd around it. “Just you, me and Terry here. Everyone else has gone to see the new-born lambs up on Harry’s farm. Your mum said not to wake you. Would you like some breakfast? I’m just making Terry breakfast in bed. He’s done his back in, silly sod.”

 _Terry_ , Dan’s brain catches up. _Terry, Mary’s brother. Harry the neighbour. Lambs. Breakfast?_

“No thanks,” he mumbles, nipping his thumbnail. He flips his phone over, just for something to do with his hands, and then remembers why he shouldn’t be looking at it. He drops it harshly.

“Sorry, our internet goes in and out,” Mary interprets. She’s plating up the toast, egg and beans. “Well, if you change your mind about breakfast, there’s various jams and cereal still out on the counter. Tea and coffee in the cupboard, juice in the fridge.”

She smiles broadly as she steps out of the kitchen, holding a full tray of food. Dan wills his stomach not to grumble.

“You up for a walk later?”

Dan shrugs, not meeting her eyes. He plays with his phone between his hands. Her face falls a little. Dan tries to subdue the irritation that sparks in him when she looks at him like that, all _knowing_ and _concerned_.

“I think it will be good for you,” she begins gently. Dan prepares himself for the speech, the one he knows all too well. He tenses his jaw. “Bit of fresh air. I know we all must seem so boring to you, but give it a chance. You might surprise yourself.”

She hesitates. “Your mum’s been so worried about you.” (And _there’s_ the guilt trip...) “She needs the break. Will you give it a try, for her?”

 _Give it a chance, give it a try._ Give _what_ a try? Breathe in the cow shit, roll around in mud? _Sit in silence, staring at birds, until I suddenly know what to do and am no longer a fuck up?_

Dan nods quietly. He forces himself to meet Mary’s eyes because she doesn’t leave until he does, adding a final ‘ _good boy’_ to her speech, which grates on him painfully. He watches her Crocs patter away and then sighs. Lazily, he drags himself up and examines the breakfast options on the counter. _Detox_ , he thinks, and glugs down a glass of juice. _Will this do it?_ Swinging up onto the counter, snarky and impertinent, he eats two slices of toast with the homemade blackberry jam. The crumbs fall into his lap and he brushes them off onto the floor.

He’s bitter about the idea that he hasn’t been trying. But truth is, he’d wallowed in his despair, hadn’t left the house, ignored messages and calls, didn’t look at the job listings his mother printed out. He’d had no fucking clue what to do next. _Has_ no fucking clue. He’d had to move back home for God’s sake because he could no longer afford rent. His mum got him out of debt. He’d humiliated himself. He’s bitter that his mum doesn’t _understand_. (Doesn't understand how the stripping wasn’t where things went wrong; the stripping wasn’t, _isn’t_ , what was humiliating.)

He’s fucking lost, and he doesn’t see how coming here will help him “ _find himself.”_ (Except, secretly, he’d wanted to come, if only because it was an opportunity to run away...)

His mum returns with the group two hours later. Since breakfast, Dan had flopped around his bedroom, debating between giving in and checking his social media, rolling a joint and smoking out the window, or reading a book. In the end, he’d read two pages of his book, scrolled on Instagram until he simply felt angry, and is halfway out the window, about to smoke a joint, when his mum, Izzy, Maisie and _Phil,_ appear below. Dan clambers down clumsily, praying to any God available that no one saw him. He fusses with himself in the mirror before padding downstairs to where everyone is chatting in the hallway.

“Daniel!” His mum chirrups, which is odd to begin with. She normally sighs and scowls (a bit like himself.) “I picked you an apple.” Dan takes it with an amused frown. She’s holding a bucket, for fuck’s sake. “We’re going to make apple crumble later.”

He eats it despite the frown. He _was_ getting hungry. He stays lingering on the stairs, observing the others. By others, he mostly means Phil, who smirked at him instantly upon arrival and looks even more handsome than Dan remembered. His jacket is nice and big on the arms and Dan just wants to slip inside and wrap himself into the warm scent that is Phil. He doesn’t know what Phil smells like yet – he’s not that creepy – but he imagines it would be pleasant. Sexy man smell. Phil flicks his eyes over at Dan, catching him checking Phil out, but Dan doesn’t hide it this time. Instead he raises his eyebrows and takes a large bite of his apple.

He knows he should be avoiding boys, but avoiding Phil goes against all instinct.

“Thought we wouldn’t see you till Thursday?”

“Why, were you counting down the hours?”

Nevermind. This detox must extend to boys, if boys like him are going to make him blush like _this_.

“Looks to me like you couldn’t stay away.”

He fakes the confidence. He doesn’t let himself think of what better response he could have said. Quickly, he turns on his heel and follows the others into the kitchen. He never learns why Phil isn’t away at whatever his prior commitments had been. He agrees to go on that fudging walk, as does Phil, and so there he is, pulling on ghastly welly boots, a _cagoule_ (it’s a raincoat, an ugly bright red one), and trudging out into the mud. It spits a little, the skies grey. Dan wrinkles his nose up.

“Cheer up,” Maisie laughs from the doorstep, arms crossed. Her nose and cheeks are pink. “It’ll make the warmth of the house nicer when you return.”

“You not coming?”

She shakes her head. “Got to study.”

 _Midwifery_ , Dan reminds himself. She had said about that, how she has collage Monday, Thursday, Friday.

“Ah, the great British summer!” Aunt Mary shouts, clapping a hand to his shoulder. Dan winces. Maisie smiles sympathetically, shivering and bouncing on her toes. “Are the troops ready?” That means him. Dan cringes as he watches Mary march on, Izzy falling into a silly exaggerated step beside her. He casts a long, jealous look back at Maisie in the doorway, who offers a small wave, and then swivels on his heel. Phil seems to drift closer with his long-legged strides, but Dan keeps his hands firmly pocketed and his gaze fixed to his welly boots. How had it been sunny earlier? This is miserable.

Except, as the women are happily nattering about boring nonsense, something catches his eye. He stops completely.

“C’mon, Dan,” his mum begins to chastise, clearly expecting him to moan or be grumpy, but her face unravels with surprise – Dan points in awe to the sky, to the giant rainbow stretching clearly from one end to the other.

Scrambling, he flicks the camera on his phone up and snaps every angle he can till the screen is blurry with raindrops. The whole group has paused, but their conversation goes over his head. He’s a bit stunned by the beauty before him; it makes his heart feel full and present. He’s no longer bothered by the damp clothes sticking to him or the rain frizzing the hair peeking out his hood. The small trance only becomes impaired when a shadow moves in beside him.

He tries to cling to the moment of contentment, to not let the irritation of the eyes over his shoulder ruin it for him, but Phil seems determined.

“Did you know you’re less likely to remember a moment if you photograph it?”

_A moment longer, please..._

“Will you be sharing those on your _social medias_?”

Dan’s not even embarrassed to blank him. The way he says it is patronising, taunting, even, and it curls anger in his stomach.

“It came out for us, hey?”

That does it. Dan gawps at him in outrage. Phil doesn’t step back, simply meets his eyes and chuckles. A fucking gay joke. It couldn't be anything innocent, right? That’s the first acknowledgement of sexuality between them. It makes Dan’s heart thud like a child’s. He hopes the others hadn’t heard it, which is ridiculous. They all know he’s queer in some way; he doesn’t know about Phil. He doesn’t _care_ about Phil (except, he really does, and the acknowledgement and collective ‘us’ makes him stupidly happy.)

Dan trudges past Phil, knocking his shoulder. Phil actually laughs. Dan does his best to walk ahead of him, but Phil catches up and they’re back to walking silently behind the others. For a few minutes, anyway.

“Are you tweeting about it?”

Dan had been scrolling through his photos. He snaps a bit quickly.

“What, you never seen the internet or something? Okay, grandpa.” There’s something of judgement in Phil’s voice, like he’s rolling his eyes and really wants to say _can’t you last a day without your phone, city kid? Are you getting withdrawal symptoms?_

Phil’s laughter is positively frustrating. Dan expects the worst, a fucking _daddy_ joke probably, kinky bastard. He pockets his phone angrily, and then feels embarrassed. He speaks where Phil doesn’t. “Live in the moment, right?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Phil grins. He didn’t, but he _implies_ so fucking much. Dan bites his lip, then drops it. Phil doesn’t get to get off on the sight of it. They walk on in silence again. _Tree, tree, tree, sheep, flower,_ Dan starts to count, for the mindfulness and for the distraction. Peacefulness starts to settle in again, but warily, tentatively, because Phil fucking Lester begins whistling and somehow it’s as annoying as nails on a chalkboard.

Somewhere, the rain stops, but Dan doesn’t bring his hood down. He takes more photographs, going as far as to kneel down to capture a small, lonely flower, or a merry snail, or a cool panoramic shot of distant fields with blades of grass in the foreground. At first, he pulls his sleeves over his hands to climb fences and gates, avoiding the mud, but somewhere he stops bothering. He ignores Phil’s staring at everything he does, ignores his offer to help him over a particularly slippy gate. At one point, he bends over into the edges of Dan’s vision and grins.

“Having fun?”

“No,” Dan retorts bluntly. He is and he isn’t. He isn’t about to admit to anything that accounts for him actually wanting to be here.

But he _is_ enjoying the breeze on his face, the steady, healthy pumping of his heart. He is enjoying the quiet (despite Phil’s insistence to ruin it), and the gentle moo-cows, the twittering birds high up in the trees. He likes the smell of the rain on the grass, of passing flowers he can’t identify. There’s a certain soothing beauty to the grey clouds.

Ducking through woods, the path thins and loses itself to overgrown bushes. Mary laughs in that loud way of hers that they’re on an adventure, while Dan’s mum shrinks away from every branch, a hard-set but unspoken reluctance on her face. Dan does his best to slink past the holly and nettle branches – it’s like a video game, he thinks – while Phil follows behind him. He picks his way carefully, delicately moving the longer branches out of his way, but one springs back at him, catching the side of his palm.

“Motherfuck-“ He brings his palm to his lips immediately. It’s a baby injury, but it stings all the same. Suddenly Phil is right behind him ( _right_ behind him) and lifting the offending branch above them.

“You okay?”

There’s serious concern in his voice, which is sweet, because Dan knows he’s being dramatic.

He’ll milk it. He turns his eyes up to Phil, over his shoulder, and releases his lip with a soft kissing sound.

“Hurts,” he pouts. A giggle bubbles in his stomach as Phil’s eyes soften. So easy. Taking his wrist, Phil ducks ahead and leads Dan out of the woods like a true hero. He drops Dan’s wrist once on the wider path, but keeps checking back at him in-between searching the shrubbery. For a ‘doc leaf’, he’d said. Dan keeps pouting and sucking his hand.

“Here.” He produces a rather large rubbery leaf and proceeds to gently take Dan’s wrist again. Dan cocks his head and watches as Phil rubs the leaf over his palm.

“Does that do shit?” He asks flatly, observing the concentration on Phil’s face. It’s not exactly a hard task, and yet something in his body seems to be exerting a lot of effort. He’s all tense. Dan can feel how hot his hand is, but tries not to let the blush creep to his neck.

“Shut up,” Phil responds, which startles Dan for a second. It almost sounds dirty from Phil’s mouth, scandalous. Dan’s heart leaps to it, in a similar way to how it had at dinner yesterday, when Phil had spoken to him softly, except this is the opposite. This makes Dan want Phil to pin him against a tree and-

“Don’t touch nettles next time.” Indignant, Dan goes to argue back, but Phil smiles in an alarming way that stops Dan’s train of thought entirely. The blueness of Phil’s eyes lingers even when he turns and walks on. They jog to catch up with the group, Dan cradling his hand.

The only way Dan can deal with his emotions here, is by being a little bitch. He finds what he remembers from his school days to be a very sticky plant, and promptly begins a game of trying to attach as many to Phil’s back as he can without him noticing. He nearly gets to three, unobservant idiot, when Phil catches him, realises what’s going on, and looks back at him with eyes sparkling in challenge. 

They fuck around for what seems like ages. Dan is better than Phil, but Phil is bolder, going from attaching the plant to Dan’s back to his lower back to his _thigh._ Dan almost kicks him when he does that. The game dissolves into simply trying to attach lots, never mind being caught, until they are both covered. Phil particularly, because he doesn’t seem bothered in avoiding Dan’s hands or taking the plants off.

“It’s like walking with toddlers,” Dan’s mum tuts, which ends in Izzy attaching a plant to her back and smiling at Dan, a finger to her lips.

“You surprise me,” Phil breathes, reaching out to pick a leaf from Dan’s hair and flick one from his neck. Dan shivers, maybe because the action is tender, or because his neck has always been sensitive. Phil looks intrigued, either way.

“Why?” Dan says, already defensive. Phil smiles warmly and shrugs. Dan guesses he means how Dan has let his hood fall down, has muddy hands and squelchy feet, has even begun to jump in puddles when no one is looking, or fall behind a little to appreciate the quiet or the view, to close his eyes.

Phil plucks some berries from a passing bush and drops them in his mouth. Dan doesn’t think about how he’s watching until Phil blinks over at him, smirking. He motions for Dan to open his mouth, but Dan snorts - a _you wish_ kind of snort - and grabs the berries from Phil’s hand. He shoves them in his mouth unceremoniously. Slowly, a line draws into place between his brows. Phil’s looks at it.

“These aren’t poisoned, are they?”

Phil scoffs. “Don’t you trust me?”

Dan knows he’s blushing. “I don’t fucking know you, Lester.” He’s aware the nickname sounds too fond once he’s said it. “I don’t know your agenda.”

Phil ignores him. “How’s your hand?”

Dan brings it up to his eyes, not that there’s anything to see. He hasn’t been _aware_ of it stinging. But he decides Phil doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.

“Still stings.”

Phil twists his lips a little, clearly doubtful. He nods though, and then says “Poor baby,” much to Dan’s shock (and fuzzy, warm tummy feelings.) He plucks more berries from the next passing bush.

Phil’s still looking over at him as Dan brings a berry to his mouth. Suddenly, Phil seems to shake himself.

“Those are poisonous, though.”

Dan drops them with a start. As they continue to walk, he scolds Phil for how close he’d been to dying, despite knowing how melodramatic and annoying he’s being; it stops him from having to think, and covers any awkward silence.

They’re rambling up a gentle yet deceivingly exhausting hill, Dan panting around his words, when the heavens decide to open and downpours sudden heavy rain. It thunders to the ground and Dan squeals, embarrassingly. He’s not sure he’s ever witnessed such heavy rain. It’s almost exhilarating. He finds himself grinning as Phil shouts something and grabs his hand, pulling Dan along with him. They run and Dan _laughs_ ; everything feels so fresh and sharp, from the thunder claps to the dashing slices of rain to the pulse in his ears. His red coat billows out behind him, his hood forgotten, as they sprint across meadow to where the others wave from under cover.

They trip to the group, at the opening to the woods. The rain pelts the leaves above them, and Dan becomes aware of his breathing, of the smile aching on his cheeks and the rain dripping down his nose. Of the hand still in his, how it has shifted to link fingers. He pulls his free, then misses it. Shuffling, he joins Phil, and looks out to the rain. He hugs his body and forcefully slows his breathing.

He’s not sure if the others are talking, but beneath the rain he can’t hear it anyway. It feels strangely silent and awkward (and intimate) with Phil so close, so on impulse he jumps and hits the branch above them. It whacks Phil in the face and Dan’s hands fly to his mouth.

“I didn’t meant to do that! I only meant to get rainwater on you.”

Which he had, too. The water collected on the leaves had showered down on Phil’s head. He had remembered to put his hood up, though.

Phil rubs his nose and slowly smiles. Thank god. “That’s still not very nice.”

Dan smiles cheekily. “Sorry.” It’s half sarcastic, only half. “This walk turned out to be quite dangerous.”

Phil ducks his head, pushing his hood down and shaking a hand through his hair. Dan sort of loves that he’s ginger.

“I like saving you,” Phil comments, looking up beneath his eyelashes. Dan’s caught out by it. He opens his mouth to argue, like always, but Phil catches him out, _again._ “You were so cute looking at the rainbow.”

Where did _that_ come from? It’s so bold, despite its innocence. Dan’s mouth gapes again, like a goldfish, but no words come out.

“So the one time I wasn’t mad at you,” is what he eventually manages. It sounds _way_ too familiar, he knows; he says it in far to much of a whisper.

Phil’s smile is all lopsided and charming, Dan feels magnetised from head to toe. He wants to kiss this boy stupid.

“You’re cute when you’re mad too.”

The rallying call from Aunt Mary breaks their lingering eye contact. The rain has stopped. Dan trudges slowly after Phil, not blind to the curious look on Izzy’s face. He doesn’t know when they start to make their way home. He slips hard onto his arse at one point, not soon after the rain stopped, and immediately wants to cry. It thoroughly brings his mood down to the bitter, angsty, irritable state he was in this morning, not helped by the fact it’s the most Phil has checked him out yet, helping him stand up, obvious eyes trailing from his muddy arse and up. _Why now_ , a voice in him groans. He’s looked so much better. All awareness crashes back down: cold, sodden clothes, mud around the ankles of his nice checked trousers, sticky plants and horrible frizzy hair. When they eventually arrive back home, he strips himself of his coat and shoes without a word and stomps up to his bedroom.

It _is_ lovely and warm, like Maisie had said, especially when he pulls off all his clothes and slips into a hot shower. The others had gone back outside to hose the mud from their feet and legs, but Dan wasn’t about to wait to shower first; he needed to be alone. He was relaxed now, after a quick wank. He’ll admit, his fantasies turned to Phil, at the end. He’d like to give Phil something better to check out than his muddy arse. He knows he can. Thinking this as he dresses in warm clothes, he doesn’t hear the footsteps on the staircase, or anticipate the knock on his door.

Of course, it’s Phil.

Dan is sat on the floor, shirtless and wearing baggy stripy pyjama bottoms, moisturizing his legs. Phil stares at his tanned skin for a few long seconds.

“Um, hello,” he greets in a funny voice, faux casual. “Er, towels?”

It’s stilted, and awkward. The first time Phil has been awkward at all, really. Dan smiles smugly.

He lets the pause stretch out between them as he rubs in the last of his moisturizer and pulls on an equally baggy white jumper. He doesn’t miss how Phil’s eyes stare at his chest until all view of it is gone. He side steps into the room, waiting.

“Towels?” Dan stands up neatly, warm and loose-limbed. He stretches a little and allows a slice of his belly to peek out, just above the jut of his hip bones. Phil’s eyes flick down as if compelled to. He looks embarrassed. He shakes his head.

“Izzy keeps them in here, sorry, you don’t know. I’ll just-“

He steps past Dan, which somehow ignites the baby hairs on Dan’s arms. Dan ponders on Phil’s familiarity with the house and how close he must be to the family. When he comes back, arms bundled with a few large towels, Dan smiles brightly. Phil hesitates in the doorway, mouth open on what Dan assumes would have been a ‘thank you.’ Instead, he smiles and frowns.

“Something smells sweet in here.”

He looks down towards Dan.

“It’s my cream.” He holds out both hands in invitation. Phil gives Dan some kind of look then takes one long step over and leans down, circling Dan’s wrist ever so slightly. He makes a pleasant hum as he smells Dan’s hands and then nudges his nose across to Dan’s wrist. Dan’s heart catches in his throat. Before he can collect himself, Phil takes it further and is suddenly leaning all the way into Dan’s neck. Dan arches it back instinctively, lips parting.

“My cologne,” Dan stutters quietly.

Phil backs away slowly. He’s back to his smooth smiling self, the one that knocks Dan totally off guard. He doesn’t say anything, simply leaves Dan to drop his arms and lick his now dry lips. He'd taken the opportunity to get Phil's scent too, and he had been right about it.

“You’ll come down in a bit?” Dan is absentmindedly tracing a hand over his neck. The question sounds like a request. “Tom is back, so we’re thinking of watching a film.”

Dan doesn’t remember who Tom is. He’s tempted to bite his nail, and that forms his excuse. He doesn’t think on why he _wants_ an excuse.

“I need to paint my nails.”

“You can’t do that downstairs?” Dan blinks, unable to muster a response in time. “I’m just going to jump in the shower. See you down there!”

Tom is Izzy’s husband, Dan finds out. Harry has also come round, and bought his big slobbery dog, and Terry is out of bed and comfortably horizontal in an armchair. Maisie is curled up beside Izzy on one sofa, while Mary and Dan’s mum drag in chairs. The dog has taken up half the other sofa, but Dan squeezes in beside her. He’s not about to sit on the floor, or a hard wooden chair, and turns out the dog likes him quite a bit, as she scoots over and plonks down, settling her warm jaw on his lap. He eats a bowl of apple crumble, and then balances his hand on the dog's head and begins painting his nails, fighting off a yawn.

Phil happily sits on the floor, next to Dan’s legs. He pets the dog behind her ear for a bit, cooing sweetly, and then smiles up at Dan. The movie starts up in front of them and Tom switches the light off, sitting on the floor beside Izzy’s legs.

“You left handed?” Phil whispers. Dan nods. “I’ll do your left hand, then.”

“You’ll miss the film.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

Dan would argue more, but he’s too tired. So Phil swipes the bottle of nail polish from where Dan had precariously balanced it on the arm of the sofa, and gently takes his hand. He’s taken his hand too gently too many times today. Dan watches tensely for the first nail, but Phil’s hand is remarkably steady. He’s got artist’s hands, Dan reminds himself, and soon sinks back into his seat. Dan pets the dog’s snoozing head with his spare hand, his stroking lulling into a slow rhythm.

His eyes almost close a number of times. Phil arranges Dan's fingers delicately, occasionally swiping the pad of his thumb along the edge of his nails. It’s remarkably calming, to be cared for like this. When Phil finishes, he nudges Dan’s knee with his forehead, which is strangely adorable. His eyes are almost as bright as the TV as they stare up at Dan, arms folded on the edge of the sofa, chin on his arm, watching as Dan blows quietly on his nails. Dan feels a funny urge to pet Phil like the dog, to muss up his hair and scratch behind his ear, tell him he did a good job. And he would, if Phil was his boyfriend. He lets Phil lean his head against his legs, though.

Izzy insists Phil can stay for dinner and sleep on the sofa, but Phil refuses, even though he has work here tomorrow. He jokes about his bad back, and Dan almost wants to pipe in and argue too, but for what? Is he going to sneak downstairs and curl up in Phil’s arms? Tempting, to be honest. Maybe that’s why Phil won’t stay.

He gets his jacket – the one Dan had yearned to hug inside earlier – and salutes the room on his way out. Weird. Charming. Dan follows like a puppy. He doesn’t know if Phil expects a special goodbye from him. Harry is pointing out constellations when Dan hovers his toes on the cold frame of the door. He looks up and his chest bursts a little at the sight of so many stars. Of course you’d be able to see the stars here, but the actual sight of them is enchanting. They look so close it’s as if he could reach his arm up and swirl his hand among them.

He’s outside, padding socked feet on the concrete, without thinking. The dog paws a little at his pyjama trousers and Dan can hear her panting, but he can’t see her. It’s so dark. He says it without thinking either.

“It’s so dark.”

“You’ve got stars on your fingernails, now.”

Dan laughs quietly. “Nice.” He’d used glittery nail polish.

Phil’s breathing close to him. They stand like that for a while, craning their necks to the sky. Phil had waved Harry off; Dan hadn’t bothered. He feels mildly hypnotised. Maybe he needs sleep.

“Oo!” Phil makes a fist at the sky, as if catching something. “Got you a star.”

Dan brings his face down and tilts his head at Phil, a smile forming on his face that can only be described as fond. Phil at least blushes, a little. Fumbling slightly, he clasps his hands together against his body and slowly opens his hands. A light shines out the opening and Dan’s heart stops. He almost gasps earnestly, until it becomes obvious it’s a torch. Phil catches the brief expression on his face, nonetheless.

A whoosh of breath leaves him in absence of the gasp. He nudges Phil with his elbow, where his arms are crossed around his body. “I don’t know whether to laugh at you or-“

He can’t think of the words to finish the sentence. Phil projects the torchlight slowly in spots over his arms, on his neck, his lips, and Dan’s breathing becomes weightier, his smile fading. Phil clicks the light off and Dan’s eyes take a minute to adjust again.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he whispers in the darkness, too genuine and Dan doesn’t know why until a small kiss lands on his cheek, near the corner of his lips. Dan almost falls into him. He’d have kissed him, properly, he would have, but Phil is gone before Dan can reach out. He hears his feet crunch away across the gravel and then onto earth. Dan steps back inside a little numbly. He feels somewhat bereft of a kiss. Now he wants it more.

He eats their late dinner without talking. He says goodnight distractedly. He brushes his teeth in a daze.

Leaning back against his bedroom door, he runs his fingers over his lips, dragging his bottom lip out, and imagines it. Kissing Phil. A voice too distant in his tired haze reminds him he always has crushes, is always too emotionally involved, and it never ends well. He’s always humiliated; shouldn’t he try to protect himself this time? Isn’t he supposed to be relaxing and clearing his head and not- this? He runs his palm down over his heart, down, down to the aching stiffness between his legs.

But maybe it’s never felt this right before?


	4. Toggles

It’s a slow morning. Phil arrives somewhere too early in the morning for Dan’s consciousness to register the time. He hears the stirring of teacups and muffled chatter through the ceiling: the boots on the doormat, the crinkle of raincoat... Maisie leaves for college and Izzy to work and when the next sounds drift up from downstairs, Dan squints at his phone to find the numbers showing 12.23.

He rolls out of bed – literally rolls, onto the floor – and steps out from the puddle of his duvet to blearily wander into the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth. The sounds from the kitchen move into the hallway so Dan slips out onto the landing, sinking down against the banister. The wood digs into his back and his bare legs and chest shiver, but it gets him closer to that warm low voice, the one coiling happily around his heart. Peeking through the gaps it would be impossible to twist himself enough to see the source of that now familiar voice, but he can see the shadow of the body against the wall. Like a lovesick idiot, he smiles to himself and then immediately frowns. He scrubs his teeth a little harder.

Phil seems to be muttering to himself and clattering around with the shoe rack. Dan can picture them all tumbling beneath Phil’s hands. “Two sugars or one today, Phil?” Aunt Mary calls and Phil answers ‘Two’, which promptly results in a tutting sound and a low chuckle from Phil. Footsteps emerge with the stirring of a spoon and then the soft exhale of breath. “Careful dear, it’s hot,” Mary warns only to then chastise, “I said hot, Philip!” Dan begins smiling again and his toothbrush stills, his grip loosened, only to then almost drop out of his hand.

“Is Dan around today?”

Dan presses his lips together.

“Hasn’t emerged yet,” Mary answers and Dan cringes. “It’s good we let the boy rest.” (She whispers rather loudly.) “He’s had a tough time lately. But-“ She inhales, pauses. “That’s as much as I’m allowed to say.”

Phil says nothing in response. Mary ushers him along to grab his lunch and Dan scrambles to the sink to spit out the toothpaste. He stares at his reflection for a little too long.

It continues to rain. While the world works Dan takes the opportunity to be indulgent. This is his holiday, right? He tries some yoga. He has a nose around the house. He thinks he feels the presence of a ghost and joins Aunt Mary and his mum for about 2.5 seconds before he gets bored of watching them cross stitch to The Archers. He goes into the study with the full intention of reading a book until the view from the French windows catches his eye. It’s not his fault a sweaty Phil Lester crosses into his line of sight.

This is where he stays for an hour, according to the obnoxious ticking clock across the room. Book in hand but eyes fixed out the window, Dan supposes you could call it spying. The room is dark, apart from the dust glowing in a beam of mellow sunlight. Dan feels safely hidden behind the heavy curtains, in the darkness of these musty bookshelves. Phil returns to the picture every 10 minutes or so. He’s lugging wood, which is hot. Presumably the broken wood beams from the shed he’s helping Izzy’s husband fix. He dumps them onto a large pile of tree branches. Dan wishes he could see the shed too, to see Phil in action. (Ahem.) He makes do. Highlights include: Phil lifting his white Back To The Future top to wipe the sweat from his brow, revealing his soft belly and slim chest, with this pleasing smattering of dark hair- and Phil bending down to retrieve onto his finger some bug or insect which he bloody _talks_ to and then places on a nearby plant.

The clock chimes in the new hour. Dan’s had enough of his stomach churning with want (and of the quiet, stuffy air) so he neatly closes his book – as if he’d read more than a paragraph – and gets up from the creaky old leather armchair. He brushes off his hands on his sweatpants. (When Phil disappeared out of sight Dan resorted to picking the white paint from the peeling window panes. That, and tracing the path of raindrops.) He moves through the kitchen into the conservatory. The rain patters on the roof. Dan pulls up his hood (he’s borrowed the red coat again) and fiddles with the door handle until the door swings open before him. He crouches down against the wall, under the gazebo roof, and begins to sketch onto the pad he’d grabbed.

He starts with one of the (many) gnomes dotted around the patio, then scraps it. He tries to draw the whole garden, with its gentle upward slope, pots and wind chimes and low hanging clouds- Scraps it. Rain plops against the ivy leaves climbing the wall beside him. The smell of fresh dampness fills his head. A cat jumps down the water pump in the corner, brushes against one unsuspecting gnome. It limps over to Dan, who now notices it has only three legs, and nudges its head against Dan’s ankles.

“Hello,” Dan coos. The wind chimes tinkle and the washing line spins in a gust of wind. The cat’s ginger hair is wet. “I don’t normally like cats and cats don’t normally like me but we can be friends.”

He tries drawing the cat, who settles into a spot of dry concrete. His coat sleeve crinkles as he pushes it up his arm. The drawing sucks anyway, despite the lack of smudges. He’s just begun to draw a fantasy pair of heels, and has completely forgotten about a certain Phil, when a pair of boots appear before him. He jumps belatedly. He’d been chatting nonsense to the cat!

“What was that about your arse?”

Dan hugs the pad against his chest with a huff. He’d said his butt still hurts from when he’d fallen on it yesterday. It’s a shame Phil Lester looks so pretty above him, with wet hair and bare forearms, his coat shrugged off. Dan has to swallow against the dryness in his throat before he responds.

“Wouldn’t you like to know. It was your fault.”

“Was it?” Phil laughs in that amused way of his. He sits down next to Dan, who shifts away from him. Only now does his coat feel clammy.

“What you drawing?”

Dan glances at him but he’s too close so he quickly averts his gaze to the concrete slabs. Ginger (the cat) has lazily gotten up to introduce himself to Phil, who apparently already knows him. Or her, as it turns out, as he too coos in a silly baby voice. It’s not annoying when Phil does it.

To Dan’s amazement, Ginger settles into Phil’s lap. Phil watches Dan closely and chuckles.

“She thinks I’m family.” He runs a hand through his own wet, ginger hair and shakes it out for emphasis. Dan’s stomach flutters. Curses.

“So is it a secret?” Phil asks casually, shifting a little to get comfortable.

Dan’s heart pangs because of what Mary told Phil earlier. Phil’s eyes are glistening just a little too bright.

“ _No_ ,” he says, simply because he has to argue against Phil. “I’m an open book.”

“Really?” Phil says with far too much interest. He tilts his head down to look at Dan, whose face heats up instantly. In the corner of his eye, Phil scratches behind Ginger’s ear rhythmically.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?”

Dan splutters. Phil’s expression remains steady so Dan stops laughing and blinks at him in shock.

“You’re fucking bold.”

Phil shrugs.

“No,” Dan answers curtly. He holds the sketchpad tighter against his chest and looks down to his lap. “I don’t.”

The silence that follows is awkward to say the least. He can’t bring himself to look at Phil to determine what he’s thinking, so he can’t anticipate what comes next. Then again, can he ever with Phil?

“You look good in red.”

“ _This_ coat?” Dan laughs incredulously. “ _This_ does it for you?”

His heart is pounding.

Phil reaches out and pulls just slightly on the toggles. Dan’s heart cuts out completely, because if this isn’t a move to get him kissed, then Dan doesn't know what-

It’s not. Phil’s hand slips away and Dan hovers embarrassingly in the space he’d been pulled into. Phil is smiling so, so smugly.

“Don’t do that,” Dan breathes, which is tantamount to admitting to the racing of his heart. The tips of his ears burn.

Phil crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “I bet you’re used to getting what you want.”

Dan copies Phil and leans back too. They both stare straight ahead. Dan is rigid in his bones. He’s hyper aware of the distance between their knees.

“No. Sometimes.”

“I bet you break all the boy’s hearts.”

Dan’s mouth opens in protest. “I do not! What if they break mine?”

Phil rolls his head to look at Dan. His eyes drop to where Dan is pouting.

“I wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Dan finds himself whispering. Phil is still watching his lips.

“Intentionally, sure.”

Dan lingers on the rough scratch in Phil’s voice. He barely catches himself leaning into it. 

Phil looks away. “You missing home?”

The question catches Dan off guard. He falters. Frowns. “I don’t know.”

Phil turns back to him curiously. Dan is staring into the distance.

“You’re not bored?”

 _No_. “Well, yeah. But home is- home is complicated right now.”

Phil doesn’t push it. However, his next question, unbeknownst to Phil, isn’t any better.

“But you miss your friends?”

“No,” Dan scoffs instantly. He can see the surprise on Phil’s face in the corner of his vision. “No, they’re all dicks.”

Phil takes hold of the toggles on Dan’s coat again. He twists them together between them, and looks remarkably shy when Dan looks down, their faces close.

“Just. Drama.” Dan explains softly, not that Phil asked. Phil lets go and the toggles unwind. He doesn’t move away. Dan tries to steady his breath, to keep it light. The rain has started again and patters gently on the gazebo roof. He watches Phil’s chest rise and fall. He doesn’t expect it when Phil’s hand comes up to nudge his chin with his knuckle. 

“Wanna get high?”

Dan’s eyes follow Phil’s hand as it moves away. _Come back._  

“I saw you,” Phil answers before Dan can ask. Dan can hear Ginger purring between his quiet words. Phil’s eyes are so blue as they stare at him. Has Dan ever seen eyes so blue? How long have they been staring at each other now?

“Okay,” he says, too shyly for his liking. He stands shakily along with Phil. (Ginger jumps away grumpily.) The anticipation is so palpable between them. At least, Dan thinks it is. His mind is buzzing with where this could lead. Surely that’s Phil’s intentions. Smokey kisses, rolling around on Dan’s bed, getting his hands on the rain-damp skin beneath Phil’s shirt...

“Boys!”

The sudden new voice startles Dan so completely it’s like he’s woken up from a dream. Everything shatters, and the rain is louder, and Ginger’s tail is curling wet around his ankle. Phil is lanky and awkward beside him. He scratches the back of his neck as Maisie hops down from the open backdoor.

“Oh it’s cold out here.”

Is it?

Maisie hugs her arms. Then she grins. “You two have a party invite. Well, it’s just to Oscar’s – the only nightclub in the area, Dan – but don’t mind the lame music you’ll be going with my awesome group of friends. You in?”

Dan still feels a little dazed, but Phil seems to have recovered. He raises his eyebrows at Dan. “Sure?”

Dan nods. He wants to get back to Phil.

“Yay! We have three hours to eat and get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

Dan is hauled over with surprising force. He looks at Phil forlornly.

“Oh, you been drawing?” Maisie plucks the sketchpad from Dan’s arms. She flips the pages over. “These are good! Gosh, if only I had a pair of heels like that. Couldn’t walk in them though. You seen these?” She turns the book to Phil. He quirks his eyebrows at Dan again. Dan hates how Phil’s hands have slipped into his pockets, now out of bounds.

“You going to wear heels tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” _In this town?_

Maisie squeals. “Yes, you should! And you’re gonna help me dress, because I’m hopeless-“ She takes his hand again.

“-I’m not sure what _I_ have to wear-“

“-Whatever you wear will make you the best dressed person in Oscars. Like ever-”

“-Wear red.”

Dan throws Phil a look at that. An eye roll. A blush. Phil smiles cheekily.

“ _You_ wear your nice shoes.” Maisie demands, pushing Dan inside. Dan looks back out through the glass. “And no weird logo top, we’re looking smart tonight.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

Phil goes to respond but Maisie waves him off. Phil catches Dan’s eyes as he’s dragged inside and waves a small, sad wave. Dan sighs behind Maisie’s back.

Phil goes home at five to get changed. Dan’s in the kitchen helping Maisie make pasta when Phil's in the hallway, chatting with Tom and Aunt Mary about the progress of the shed and how his arms ache (Dan would happily provide a massage-) Maisie calls a reminder to dress nice, and Phil pops his head in to steal a piece of cheese from the bowl Dan is shredding into. He smiles as he chews and ducks back out again. Dan suddenly feels excited about tonight. It’s the usual buzz of a night out: the lure of dancing, of losing your head for a while, of dressing up to the nines and feeling all eyes in the room turn to you- Except this time the only eyes that matter are Phil’s, as blue as they are.

The sky turns black and the excitement builds. They eat fast and skip upstairs to Maisie’s bedroom. Usually, he’d be drinking at this point, but tonight he’s giddy enough, and the wine in the kitchen is for ‘the adults.’ Dan puts his playlist on his phone speakers and proceeds to present a mini fashion show to Maisie, showcasing the options from his suitcase. Maisie is easy to please but nothing is quite right, so after a moment he begins looking through her clothes. He gasps when his fingers brush it, and holds it up to himself with glee. It’s a silky black crop top, long sleeved and off the shoulder, ruched at waist and wrists, two diamante gems embedded into the top of the ruching on the sleeves. It’s so dated, so ugly, it’s cool (Maisie says it’s from a charity shop – they’ll have to go shopping one day.)

Maisie bombards Dan with questions as she showcases her options (Dan being a much tougher critic – he settles on a black sweetheart mini dress that she apparently used for waitressing but looks really sexy paired with dangly silver earrings.) _When did you first wear heels? Have you ever been to a concert? Have you always lived in London? Do you go clubbing a lot? Do you smoke? Have you...tried any drugs? You don’t have to answer this but I didn't want to assume areyougay?_

“When did you know?” Maisie asks in this fascinated whisper she’s been using ever since he said ‘ _yes_.’

Dan is knelt behind her, braiding her hair. It goddamn near broke the hairbrush, it’s so tangled, but Dan pushed on.

He glances at her in the mirror in front of them. She blinks and the glitter she put on her eyelids sparkles.

“Kinda always. I don’t remember when exactly.”

“Were you bullied?”

“A little, yeah.”

She pauses to think. Dan reaches for a hairband.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Dan used to say yes to that. But how can he be sure?

“Have you?”

“ _No_ ,” Maisie whines, pulling the braid over her shoulder and admiring it. Then a devilish smile lights up her face. “Maybe we’ll find our Prince Charmings tonight.”

“How can they resist us.” Dan stands. Maisie bounces up and takes both his hands. Dan’s heart bursts a little, she’s so lovely. And she looks gorgeous tonight.

“You, maybe.”

“You look stunning, Maisie. But can I _please_ teach you to walk in heels?”

They turn the (tinny) music louder and strut around Maisie’s room. Dan feels like a teenager again, with the glitter in the air and striking poses in the mirror. Maisie’s room is that of a young girl’s, likely unchanged from her childhood, toys still on the shelf and posters on the walls. Her bed is strung with fairy lights and all the fabrics are rich in jewel tones, which makes the room feel warm and welcoming. Maisie can’t get the hang of the heels (almost steps in the eyeshadow palette once, trips onto her bed twice) so she switches to converse instead, which Dan decides suit her more anyway. He however pulls on his black platform boots, despite the flicker of fear in his heart. Maisie takes his hand for the thousandth time and walks them to Izzy’s room. They pose for photos in front of the stairs.

“Don’t they look gorgeous!” Mary beams, snapping more pictures.

Dan’s mum crosses her arms, leaning back against the wall of the staircase. (They’d both been called upstairs to see.) She smiles at Dan, but it’s somewhat hollow.

“Is that Maisie’s top?” Izzy asks. Dan holds up the sleeves and twirls. The group laugh.

“What bag are you taking? You’ll need to take your keys.”

“Oh!” Maisie’s face drains of colour. “My going-out bag is broken. All the others are too big. I can’t take a rucksack-“

“Come on,” Izzy laughs, turning into her room. “I’m sure I have something.” (The something turns out to be a strange felt clutch bag with a fuchsia pink flower on it. Dan doesn’t comment.)

Dan’s mum steps up and leans against the banister, her chin on her arms.

“I don’t know where you get it from,” she muses, looking Dan up and down.

Dan blushes. He’s always hated sentimental mum comments, especially because his mum hardly makes them. She almost never comments on his fashion choices, either. In fact, she’s only ever piped up when it’s about what suit he should wear to interview (because suits are her specialty; it’s a shock to see her in _leggings_.)

“Good looks run in this family.” Mary sits down on the top step, scrolling through the photos on her phone with a very pointed single finger. “I didn’t always look like this you know.” She wiggles her slippered feet. “I had the boys chasing after me.”

“What did Uncle think of that?”

“Oh he loved it, because he got to say I was his, God bless him.”

Dan struggles to imagine a young, stylish Aunt Mary, but it makes him smile, the thought of her and her husband. In this dim hallway lighting, surrounded by grandma prints and old photographs in frames, the energy that had drummed up over the evening lulls into a moment of quiet contemplation. Dan runs his fingers over his waist, where the silky hem of his top ends.

“How did you meet?”

Mary looks up with a gleam in her eye. She tilts her head. “I was walking in the rain and he told me I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen and could he please take me on a date. Well I was taken aback but this boy was walking backwards, bumping into things and getting drenched, so I said please will you get under my umbrella but he refused unless I said yes to the date. So, I did. He took me to dinner that night.”

“I didn’t know that,” Dan’s mum comments quietly.

“Oh your Uncle was full of surprises. He was a very persuasive man. Made me feel loved right up until the end!”

Dan looks at his mum, who is smiling sadly. Mary seems to notice too, and her face falls a little. His mum wasn’t so lucky. She’s been through many boyfriends in Dan’s lifetime.

“Your mum was the talk of the town when she came up here as a teenager.” Mary turns to Dan now, lightening the mood. “Boys here never seen the likes of her before. I remember them popping up with excuses to knock on the door and see her.”

Dan’s mum waves Mary off, shaking her head.

“Don’t listen to her,” Mary whispers. “She was a real heartbreaker.”

Dan’s about to join in the teasing, delighted with this new information, but Maisie reappears and suddenly they’re in a hurry. While Maisie phones Phil, Dan checks himself again in the bathroom mirror. The butterflies erupt tenfold in his stomach, his limbs jittery, his heart full. He touches up his makeup and then the doorbell rings. Dan’s stomach drops. He’s here.

He steps out quietly, listening to the voices downstairs much like this morning. ‘Oh don’t you scrub up nice!’ Mary comments among the chatter. ‘You look very handsome, dear.’ He can hear Terry too, commenting on the discos these days, how they don’t play a slow dance number anymore. Maisie is blabbering on about bus times when Phil asks ‘Where’s Dan?’ Dan takes a deep breath.

“Here!”

He should be used to having everyone stare at him. This crowd isn’t his usual audience, though. This crowd is silent and has a particular pair of eyes that feel like lasers on his skin.

The stairs creak as he steps down slowly. His heels feel obnoxiously loud against the carpet. He hopes the silence is good, he hopes they don’t just feel awkward. He places his shaky hand on the banister and slides it down beside him. He can feel Phil’s stare so intensely it makes his skin tingle. It travels from his heels up his red skinny jeans, with the selective rips and the rolled ankles. (He could pretend the jeans were his only option. They weren’t.) Phil eyes the tanned sliver of his hips, how his top skims his belly button. The tight fit to his chest...his exposed collar...the sparkly nails Phil had likened to stars. He’d applied liberal black eyeliner and slicked his hair. He can’t help but touch it now. Phil watches as he does.

When he reaches the bottom step the silence lingers. It grows suffocating. “What?” He laughs.

Mary is smiling knowingly, Terry just looks confused. Maisie is nudging Phil, whose lips have parted and who now blinks quickly. His chest lifts a little and he smiles awkwardly, _nervous._

“Nothing, dear,” Mary fills the silence, taking his arm. “Come on now, don’t miss your bus.”

They wave goodbye, chuckling about being  _old_ , and then Mary closes the door. The shadowed trees rustle in the breeze, the path ahead of them long (and bumpy.) Maisie links arms with Dan. “We’ll get drink on the way,” she remarks, surprising Dan. They walk on through the deep darkness, only lit by the windows of the house. As they traverse the driveway, Dan sneaks a glance at Phil, who is walking a little to the side, hands in his pockets and watching his feet. Pride curls in Dan’s chest. He knew he looked decent but with a look like the one Phil gave him he now feels unstoppable. Tonight should be fun.

He and Maisie giggle as she supports him over the stones and gravel. He whines loudly about the mud. When they reach the local town, Dan receives a few stray looks. Phil walks over to his side when they pass a local pub with patrons spilling outside. He keeps his head down but it’s obvious how he uses his body as a shield. Dan holds his head high and walks on boldly.

The off-licence is opposite the bus stop. Maisie goes alone and tells them to wait. Bereft of the warmth of her arm, Dan makes a show of rubbing his arms. He sits, jiggling his legs, as Phil slowly sits down beside him.

Phil’s gaze travels just as slowly over to him.

“Cold?”

“It’s worth it.”

Dan turns just in time to see Phil biting his lip.

“What do you think?”

Phil’s eyes move to meet Dan’s. He does look handsome, now Dan can see under the florescent light. His hair is pushed back and his eyes are bright. He’s freshly shaven. His shirt collar is open by two buttons, inviting Dan who's desperately trying to keep his upper hand.

“You really have to ask?”

Phil’s voice is deep. _Deep_ deep. It shoots straight through Dan to all the wrong (right) places.

“Tell me.”

He’s feeling brave. He’s normally brave. It’s only with Phil he’s been so embarrassing. He waits patiently, breeze rustling through his hair. The streets are dead silent. The last car to pass was minutes ago.

Phil trails his eyes down Dan’s body again. Slowly. Teasingly.

“Pretty, Dan.”

Maybe it's good Maisie skips back over then. Dan can't breathe let alone talk.

His self-control is hanging by a thread. He would straddle Phil right here and now and have him call him ‘ _pretty_ ’ again, and again and again and again, he would- But the bus draws up. Dan glugs back the alcohol like water as they gather on the backseat, despite Maisie’s hushed concerns for him to be more discreet. There’s only one other person on the bus anyway, and he gets off at the next stop. They thank the driver when they reach their location, trotting out onto the pavement (about twenty minutes later – they talked about school, but Dan was a tad distracted. He did learn Phil was somewhat of a nerd.) This town is evidently bigger, with more street lamps and people and, low and behold, a club, where people are outside smoking and where two girls run forward into Maisie’s arms, gushing compliments.

Maisie’s friends are all as sweet as Maisie. Most are her age, school friends, though some are from her course and are older. None of them are particularly stylish. There are some boys, though they’re hopelessly straight and clearly intimidated by Dan. They greet Phil enthusiastically. The dance floor, to Dan, is disastrously empty when they step down to it, but no one else seems bothered. Maisie and the girls immediately head to the toilets. They try to drag Dan along (all seem as fascinated by him as Maisie), but Dan isn’t about to be ‘one of the girls’ tonight. He goes to the bar with Phil, though Phil is quiet to his presence. He talks to the other boys a bit about London and work, but loses them when a Taylor Swift song comes on. Surprisingly.

“What will you have?” Phil elbows him. Dan takes the opportunity to lean into him.

“I’ll get a rum and coke, probably.”

Phil instantly attracts the attention of the barman.

“What? Are you buying?”

Phil looks at him (up at him - Dan hadn't quite noticed he was taller now), a small, amused frown etched into his forehead. “Yeah?”

Dan pretends not to feel giddy about that. God knows he's been bought drinks before. The night ensues with careful bobbing (drinks in hand) and conversation shouted over the music. The group seem to know each other well and Dan feels a little alone, but Phil seems to be easing up and soon he’s more like the guy Dan's got to know. He lets Dan bitch to him about the crummy club and its shitty music, he buys him another drink, he eyes him some more, he puts his hand at the small of Dan’s back wherever they walk. He offers his hand to dance and is spinning Dan around, with Dan so ready for more, when someone comes up behind Phil. Phil keeps Dan’s hand in his for a moment longer before dropping it with apologetic eyes.

Dan continues dancing alone and observes the guy over Phil’s shoulder. The sinking inside him tells him who this guy is. He’s not bad looking. He can’t hear what they’re saying but then Phil is being taken to the bar. Phil glances back but Dan isn’t invited. Dan watches a moment longer, frowning, before locating Maisie and striding over.

Well, he intends to stride. The club has now gotten more crowded. Maisie has her head back, laughing, when Dan shamelessly interrupts. The seriousness falls over her face instantly as she lets Dan pull her aside.

“Do you know him?” He asks. Maisie has linked their arms again and is patting his hand. She seems a little drunk, by the way her eyes bulge exaggeratedly and she goes ' _Oh.'_

“That’s Phil’s ex.” (And the sinking in his gut sinks deeper.) “ _Well_ , I say ex, they used to hook up. Phil somehow gets all the gays in the village to come out of the woodwork. Not come out come _out, Phil_ isn’t even out, but he’s had more of a love life than me, and you’d think that wouldn’t be easy out here in the countryside.”

Dan’s brain fumbles to catch up. That was a lot of information at once.

“How long ago?” He asks, hoping the context already established is enough.

“ _Oh_ ,” she says again. She waves her hand. “ _Ages._ Unless...I’m thinking of that other guy...”

Dan is watching the two intently. They’re closer now, clinking drinks.

“Oh! Are you worried though? I wouldn’t worry Dan, he likes _you_. Shhh, secret.” She pats his hand again. “But he’s been asking about _you_.”

“Asking about me how?” Dan queries, not taking his eyes off Phil, but Maisie doesn’t get to answer because it’s then that they watch as the two boys, even _closer_ now, slink away from the bar and out a back door. Phil looks around once, and then he’s gone.

“Maisie where does that go.”

“Um.” Now she looks concerned. “It’s the alleyway...”

Dan’s always been the jealous type. This is crushing though. Of course. What are alleyways for? Maybe he’s jumping to conclusions, Maisie’s tug on his arm tells him that- But right now his mind can’t give a fuck. His gut is intensely tangled in jealously and his chest is swimming in self-doubt. Maybe he’d taken for granted that Phil liked him at all. Maybe he’s just the flirtatious type. Maybe Dan’s not special at all. Dan’s heart keens and throbs and he quick-steps to the bar, losing Maisie.

His brain flips between two different angers. One: that Phil is missing out and Dan's heaps better than that other guy. Two: that that’s completely big-headed and selfish and Phil hadn’t meant to string him along, Dan was just too vulnerable and needy and pathetic, always falling for someone new, always getting hurt... Either way, he knocks back two shots and heads onto the dance floor.

Mostly, his unique outfit had been concealed in the shadows. But when he dances like this, the crowd parts and the crowd looks. He closes his eyes to the swirling lights and lets his body feel the music. It feels louder now, crushing against his skull. He focuses on his body and the noise begins to dissolve. He begins to feel lighter. He starts with a simple body roll, touching himself over his collar, over his chest. Then he travels his hand down and tosses his head. The girls in the group scream. Dan grins.

The pulse of the music drums inside him. He speeds up with it and opens his eyes. The room is a blur anyway. The girls pull him up onto the platform and he pulls one close and grinds into her. She laughs, grinding back. They try to copy his movements, how he sways and shimmies and strikes poses. He doesn’t care who laughs. He pushes one hand under his top. He’s sweaty, how he likes it. He's untouchable. Thinking of Phil, he drops to the floor, one arm in the air. The girls scream again at the slut drop, as he opens his legs suggestively. His hand drifts to clutch over his jeans as he pulls up, adding a final kick with his heel. The song changes. The girls flood him instantly. He doesn’t get beaten up, at least. Across the room, he feels eyes on him. A strange pleasure heats his chest.

 _Done already?_ He thinks. _Aw, could he only last one song?_

He’s twirling one girl under his arm, Maisie in his ear shouting how she didn’t know he could dance like that, when a man steps up to him. Dan’s smug until he recognises the face.

“Hi,” the man greets, smirking.

Dan tries to step back but bodies block his way. He is _not_ being hit on by Phil’s ex, _especially_ not when they just-

Suddenly the hand reaching for him is gone and Phil’s back is facing him. Dan bends and sees the fingers curled around the man’s wrist. Words are being muttered between them, fierce ones, it seems. Dan’s stopped dancing.

Dan tenses when there’s an obvious shove to Phil’s chest. The guy barges out of the crowd. Tentatively, Dan goes to touch Phil’s shoulder, but decides against it. Before Phil can see him staring, he turns back to Maisie, dancing with her from behind. She winds her hands up to his neck, her feet slipping.

The words are hot against his ear.

“I think we’ve all had enough now.”

“Have we?” Dan shoots back, flinching away from the press of Phil’s body and the hands on his waist. But before he can say more, Maisie turns around in Dan’s arms, nodding her head.

“Y-Yes, yes, let’s go." Over Dan’s shoulder, she faintly reaching a finger to touch Phil’s face. Phil takes her from there, holding her close as they step up to the door. Dan considers not making the move to leave as they say their goodbyes, but Phil pulls him by the arm, rather harshly. Back outside in the brisk cold, Dan realises quite how drunk he really is. A solid 8 out of 10. Maybe 9. His ears are humming and ringing from the music, and his limbs are warm and jelly-like. When he speaks his voice sounds disconnected. He tests it again, just saying ‘ _hello_ ’ out loud. His head spins. He giggles.

Somewhere Phil props him up and he brings both of them to the bus stop. Dan hadn’t considered bus times and buses home. He’s used to taxis, or not going home until morning. Phil must have been paying attention, though. He lets his head loll as he collapses onto the bench.

“Did you have fun...hot stuff?” Maisie slurs beside him, poking his cheek.

Dan nods then winces. Because, dizzy. Maisie laughs as he clutches his head.

“Are you not sad now?”

“Why was he sad?”

“Because you went and fucked your ex,” Dan responds bluntly. The words linger in the air. His eyes closed, at some point, so he doesn’t see Phil flounder. He smiles at the thought.

“My ex went and wanted to fuck you.”

Dan opens his eyes. Phil’s looking at Dan in bewilderment. His stomach twists at Phil’s dark eyes, and him saying ‘fuck’, and ‘you.’

“He pulled me outside to talk about his newly broken heart. Then he saw you and decided you’d make for good distraction.”

There’s a sharp edge to his voice. Dan smiles at it.

He leans into Phil’s chest, letting his forehead collide with it. “Were you jealous?” Dan teases, which, of course, is rich.

Phil’s looking down at the top of Dan’s head.

“He thought you’d be easy,” Phil breathes. Dan feels the heartbeat against his forehead.

Dan pulls back, lifts up to Phil’s lips.

“Maybe I am.”

“Dan-“ Phil’s voice breaks.

“Here! Bus!” Maisie shouts, all discombobulated, voice scratchy, flailing her arm out. They board it with sudden tired feet and Dan takes the empty bus as opportunity to lie down across two seats. Maisie and Phil sit in front of him. He’s not asleep, but maybe they think he is, by the way they talk.

“When did he get so drunk?” Phil asks.

_As if Maisie isn’t worse._

“I blinked, Phil, and he’d gone and got shots.”

“I _am_ here,” Dan mumbles into the fabric of the seat.

“I didn’t realise how it looked. When I came back out I thought Dan was just bored of me.”

“No, he definitely likes you.”

“Excuse me-”

“Maisie-“ Phil whispers something. A few somethings. The bus rattles beneath Dan, the engine humming in his ear.

“You’re invited to Beth’s birthday party tomorrow. I can’t go, but you two should. Maybe you can then.”

When Dan sits up, Maisie’s head is on Phil’s shoulder. He lets himself rest properly for the remainder of the drive.

The walk home is both easier and harder. Dan’s feet finally ache and all of them are not steady enough for the country paths. The night chill has seeped into Dan’s bones in a way that he can’t wait for bed. His eyelids are so heavy it’s hard to keep them open.

“You take Dan upstairs. Be quiet, yeah?”

The house is ahead, one window lit downstairs. The gravel crunches beneath them. Morning birds are tweeting overhead.

“Why do you guys keep talking like I’m not here?”

“Should I fireman lift him?”

Maisie giggles.

“You got keys?”

Dan swerves this way and that as he walks. Phil pulls him into a side hug, fingertips pressing into his arm.

“Why is Phil perfect?” Dan says aloud. He begins to think maybe he didn't, because the pause that follows is long.

“Phil isn’t perfect. Maybe Phil is trying really really hard to impress you.”

The muffled quiet of the house is so sleep inducing Dan has to sit down on the stairs. He listens distantly as shoes are taken off and bags put down. Someone crouches to unzip his heels. It’s Maisie, he finds, when he squints open one eye. Phil is leant against the front door, watching Dan with a soft smile.

“You should show him your studio tomorrow,” Maisie whispers, lining Dan’s shoes with the rest. “What is it... Friday. Are you working?”

Phil nods.

Next thing Dan knows, he’s being lifted. Not fireman style - he’s being cradled. He tilts his head into Phil’s shirt and lets the scent of Phil envelope him.

“Night,” someone whispers.

Though the bed is soft he claws a little as he’s put down. Phil sighs. Dan curls up promptly on top of the covers. He can feel Phil crouched in front of him. He doesn’t have the energy to tease. He just about opens his eyes.

“You look like a panda.”

Phil’s gentle voice vibrates through him. He snuggles around it.

“Are you gonna get under the covers?”

Dan shakes his head.

“I wanted to kiss you tonight.”

Dan tilts his lips in offering. Phil laughs quietly. Then he leans over, brushes the hair from Dan’s forehead in one swoop of his palm and kisses Dan's temple.

Dan limply flops his arm out. Some gesture of _stay._ Phil takes hold of the tip of Dan’s index finger and shakes it. Dan smiles into his pillow.

Dan could have dreamed it, what he thinks he hears Phil whisper next. 

“You’re beginning to own my heart, Daniel.”


	5. Prince in skinny-jean armour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL HAVENT EDITED YET WILL DO IN MORN X

It always felt like a heart attack. Dan knew that now. So when his heart began pounding thick and fast against his chest, he knew to just breathe. The high would come soon.

The club was closed, leaving only the select few. This is when the party really began, when they kicked off work. Malcom had placed the pill on his tongue over the bar. The timing had been just right; now Dan was euphoric. He slipped into his boyfriend’s arms and delved his tongue inside his mouth. The music was cut off but they didn’t need it; the shadowed bodies around Dan moved despite the silence. Maybe they couldn’t hear it due to the buzzing in their head. Malcom exclusively had his hands on Dan now. Some of his boyfriends had been possessive, but Malcom seemed to enjoy when Dan got off stage and all the men reached for him, all their jeering across the bar. Dan used to find it flattering. Lately he’d only found it annoying. Maddening, even.

Dan didn’t snort. He’d seen the pictures of Daniella Westbrook. He watched Malcom do it and shook his head over and over, but tonight the teasing was even more pressing somehow. Maybe it was having Malcom join in. Having his friends think him boring wasn’t so hurtful. The floor was sticky on the bare skin of his knees. Malcom knelt behind him, slipping a hand beneath the mesh of Dan’s top to rest over the heaving of his breath.

 _Thud thud thud._ The high would come soon. It would.

In the videos, Dan was backed into a corner, trembling, his breaths coming loud and ragged. His head jerked around, eyes huge and terrified. He kept whispering ‘ _help me, help me, I’m scared’_ and the camera would shake as his friend laughed. One friend knelt beside him and Dan jumped away. He reached out his hand but his depth perception was off. And then his eyes latched onto something behind her and he pointed and the group laughed again. ‘ _Help me’,_ he began to sob. Dan doesn’t remember what he’d been seeing. He doesn’t remember anything, but he knows what happens next.

(Malcom had just been grappling with him to stand, saying _calm down,_ when Dan had vomited, the cameras flashed, and then Dan was shaking hard, Malcom dropped him, and someone shouted _call 999!_ )

Dan surfaces with a start. His back is practically stuck to the sheets as he sits up, raking a hand through his hair.

_You’re beginning to own my heart, Daniel._

The words slip into his mind immediately. But mixed with the dying embers of his dream – of his memories – his thoughts are too confusing to confront. His heart is slowing down but it still feels too large to accommodate, too fragile and volatile where he can feel the pulse of it against his palm. His head throbs awfully as he looks to the side. Beneath his heavy eyelids, he blinks against the sunlight. The sounds of the day and his family downstairs descend upon him. He feels more tethered now, but with it comes a swell of nausea which has him tumbling from the bedsheets and racing to the bathroom. When he’s done, he leans back against the pipes of the sink, panting. Maisie curls a hand around the doorframe and smiles sympathetically.

“I’ll bring you water,” she sighs, wrapping herself tighter in her ginormous fluffy dressing gown. From the back she looks like a porcupine, with her hair sticking up at all angles.

Dan doesn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed. Trying not to taste the bile as he swallows, he closes his eyes. He’s had worse. Much worse. Worse nausea, worse headaches. Worse impaired memory. He’s made mistakes before, he’s learnt from them. He’s taken risks and lost out to them. He’s had his trust betrayed, his heart broken-

Opening his eyes to the white-green lights of the bathroom, Dan cuts his thoughts short. He’d been thinking about being hungover, and then-

He can picture Phil’s face through a blurry sort of frame: kind, compassionate eyes watching over him, a dopey, sweet smile, the flicky flicks of his ginger hair. Did he carry him upstairs, or was that a dream? Did he say those words, or did Dan simply wish for them? Dan doesn’t remember getting home. He remembers getting on the bus, and the rest he has to strain to see. Unfortunately, he remembers the debacle with the ex. That he does have the energy to feel embarrassed for. But it also scares him, how easily he got hurt last night. It feels like the world is testing him; it feels like one more bad habit to break, but then again...

_You’re beginning to own my heart, Daniel._

Fucking _Daniel._ He had to, didn’t he? Could he _get_ any more _annoying-_

Maisie flops down in front of him, holding out a full glass with two hands. Dan takes it with a delightful _ugh_ and she snickers. She looks far too full of grace for Dan’s memory of her last night. He would make the remark, but his belly still feels too unpredictable for him to open his mouth. She sits with him a while, fitting herself into a yoga pose, the soles of her feet together, as she rambles about how all her friends loved Dan, and how much fun he was, and what a good dancer he was, has he had classes? She informs him that he and Phil are invited to one of her friend’s, er, _Beth’s,_ birthday party tonight, if he feels well enough, and then makes the executive decision that he needs toast and scrambled eggs with lots of ketchup, and so Dan hobbles downstairs, in his own giant dressing gown, much to the amusement of Aunt Mary and his mother.

“And he rises!”

“Oh be nice, dear, if I remember rightly, you looked quite similar some mornings you spent here...”

“Here, you’ve got panda eyes-“ Maisie giggles, reaching across him to dab at his face. Dan shovels a forkful of food into his mouth and chews determinedly. Something about Maisie’s comment stirs weird feelings in him again, a weird sense of Deja-vu. Maybe he’s about to be sick again.

Maisie does the talking for him as Mary asks if they had a good night. The telly drones on in the background – afternoon telly, Countdown, or something similar. Terry’s outline is lit-up with the soft blue glow of the screen.

“Our Phil is a good lad for getting you two home safe. You should go thank him today, Dan.”

Dan’s about to ask why only _he_ should go thank him, when apparently Phil was saviour, Prince in skinny-jean armour, to both of them, but Maisie cuts in.

“He might ring later today. He and Dan might go to Beth’s party.”

“Oh, marvellous!” Mary claps her hand. She nods at Dan with somewhat of a twinkle in her eye. “Well go shower, Dan. Make yourself presentable.”

Dan frowns over his shoulder as Mary gives him a fresh towel and pushes him towards the bathroom. She looks like she knows something he doesn’t. She looks _pleased_ for him. Maisie shuts herself in her room to study; she can’t go to Beth’s because of early morning classes. Dan hasn’t said either way, but he does as Mary instructs regardless. He plans what he’s going to say to Phil, whether he should gloss over his jealousy and melodrama or apologise for it, and he dresses himself in party-appropriate attire early, which he is more than grateful for when Phil doesn’t just ring, but instead _turns up_ knocking on the doorstep...

...Looking gorgeous.

“Hi,” Phil breathes.

Dan is wearing cropped black trousers and his ironic _bad bitch_ jumper in pale pink. Phil looks him up and down promptly and then leans coyly against the doorframe. Dan is glad no one has popped their head out behind him; none of them seemed to hear the door over the TV. 

Dan mirrors Phil, leaning against the wall. Their faces are just a little too close. Phil’s eyes glance down to Dan’s lips, which has Dan’s stomach swirling with all kinds of unnecessary feelings. His heart squeezes a little – like it has every time – as the words that have haunted him all morning pass through his mind once again. _You’re beginning to-_ Maybe it’s how he’s looking at Phil’s lips too, and imagining the words coming out of them. A strange picture flits through his head, of Phil reaching out and grabbing Dan’s heart from his chest, and pulling it towards him.

“Yes?” Dan says instead of ‘hi.’ It’s an attempt at a power move. Phil tends to break Dan down to mush somehow.

“Do you wanna see my workshop?” Phil whispers, too low and seductive for Dan’s liking. He’s still looking at Dan’s lips which is quite frankly bold and assumptive and _infuriating-_

The chill breeze slips into the radiated warmth of the house and tickles the hairs on Dan’s arms.

“What if I’m busy?”

“Are you?”

“What about Beth’s party?”

Phil shifts. He puts his hands in his jacket pockets casually. “Yeah we can go to that after.” His eyes drift down Dan’s body again. Suddenly Dan feels just a little electric. He’s back to where they were yesterday, before Maisie had interrupted. Somehow he doesn’t think they’re going to make it to Beth’s.

“Oh can we?”

Phil knows it. He looks up at Dan and smiles all coy again. Dan doesn’t remember why he felt embarrassed about his jealousy. Now he wants Phil to know all his feelings, wants to _show_ him each and every one in action...

Phil’s stare falls to his feet and he shifts again, a little awkwardly. “Or, I mean, I don’t mean to be presumptuous.” He looks at Dan under his lashes. His eyebrows are slightly raised, inviting, _asking_ Dan to speak. The flicker of doubt in his face and the tentative question makes Dan see him in that more human, nervous light, the one he’s encountered when Phil came to collect towels, or when he saw Dan walk down the stairs, but it does nothing to break the building tension; it makes Dan feel more wanton, _more_ desperate. He steps forward with a hunger and fresh confidence, and watches as Phil’s eyes startle and his lips drop open.

Dan presses his hand into the centre of Phil’s chest and slides it up to splay the tips of his fingers over Phil’s neck. The relative danger of the situation sparks excitement in his heart, the pulse of which he wants to press bodily to Phil so it can drum out the sensation of it being grabbed and ripped from his chest. Breathing the air from Phil’s space, he circles his eyes up the side of Phil’s pale neck to his darkened eyes, which are looking down eagerly into his.

“You’re not,” Dan whispers. He skims his palm up to brush the pad of two fingers over Phil’s lips. “Am I?”

Phil shakes his head, like putty in Dan’s hands. It’s nice this way around; this is familiar. And then Phil is grabbing Dan’s hips and brushing thumbs beneath his jumper. “Steady on,” Dan laughs, chastising despite himself, pushing Phil back from the door when he slides up to Dan, putting their foreheads together, lips heading distinctly towards Dan’s ear.

Phil’s breathing has quickened. Dan’s has too; his legs feel particularly shaken and suddenly difficult to stay standing on- But Phil doesn’t need to know that. Dan half shuts the door, speaking around it, voice as steady as it can be.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll just tell them I’m meeting you and Beth’s friends for pre-drinks, or something-“

“ _And_ friends?”

Dan doesn’t give Phil the satisfaction of a blush or otherwise retort; he closes the door and does exactly as said, explaining Phil had phoned and Dan has already eaten, yes. He dithers a bit over does he need a coat, does he have his phone, keys, has he brushed his teeth? Is he going to need money, ID, are they _actually_ going to Beth’s- does he need condoms?! He shoves his phone, keys, gum and (a condom) Vaseline (for his lips) into his trouser pockets, and aims a small giddy smile at himself in the hallway mirror before quick-stepping back to Phil.

Because it’s never felt quite like this, right, Dan?

_Thud thud thud._

He hops outside, still pulling on his shoes. Phil is leant against the wall, just short of the living room window. A breeze shimmies through his hair as he turns his head, suddenly smiling so calmly is as though Dan hadn’t been a few seconds shy of getting a hard-on those two minutes ago. Or Phil, for that matter. There’s no obvious tent in his trousers at all. Dan is almost disappointed; he’d half expected to come back to greedy hands and latent teen-boy hormones, pressing him against the wall Phil’s now so casually leant against, pressing something else other than a forehead into him-

Dan finds himself taking a slightly deep, but short, breath. His pulse slows. Right, then.

Phil glances over him again _in that way, I swear,_ and then flicks his gaze sideways, squinting into the evening sun. He lifts off the wall and motions his head forward. They begin walking and Dan pretends not to see Phil surreptitiously look at him again. Maybe _he’s_ feeling embarrassed.

“So... Did you had a nice day?”

“Did _you_?” Phil teases, eyes sparkling. His lips crook into a smile. “You were a mess last night.”

“Fuck off!”

Phil chuckles, not perturbed at all.

“Did you stay at ours or go home?”

“Home,” Phil says somewhat seriously. Dan shrugs, unsure why the idea of staying over, when he’s stayed over before, is so essential to stamp out. (Unless....Phil really did...)

“Had work. This morning. You still wanna see my workshop?”

“I don’t think I ever said I did.” Phil looks hurt for a moment, so Dan quickly adds. “Yes, Philip, I want to see your workshop.”

Phil beams a little too adorably. “Good!” He smiles, clapping his hands. The twinkle in his eye when he looks at Dan again, leaning slightly towards him, is impossible to look away from. “I am going to impress you, Daniel.”

Having determinedly ignored the tornado of butterflies at Phil’s statement (the landslide of emotion, the _tidal wave_ of shivers-) (workshop is an innuendo, right?), Dan keeps his cool as they walk through town to Phil’s shop. Well, it’s not _Phil’s_ shop – but Phil works under its name. Doing... _framing_ jobs, roofs and floors and all that jazz, and some... _plastering_ too, skirting boards... Truthfully, it’s all a bit boring, so Dan can’t be blamed for switching off into his lumberjack-Phil fantasy, a little helped by the memory of Phil in the garden (except minus his shirt...)

When they reach the shop, Dan is more than a little confused. In one window are fancy looking cabinets and wardrobes, and in the other there are violins.

“I thought you were a builder?”

“ _Framer,_ and joiner, yes, with Dad. That’s Dad’s business. That’s what brings in the money, but I was also trained by his friend, Peter, who is a cabinetmaker and luthier. That’s instruments. He owns this shop. Did you listen at all, Dan?”

“Shut up. Carpenter, framer, _Lucifer_ , whatever-talk, isn’t exactly going to get me hot under the collar.”

Dan is looking through the window when Phil tugs on his collar and breathes hot against his neck.

“Oh but don’t you want to know what I can do with my hands?”

Suddenly, Dan is being slapped (lightly) on the neck. Dan doesn’t even doubt Phil’s showcasing his kinky side, until Phil says ‘ _Spider_ ’ loudly and Dan hears the squeak of wheels passing by them. The old lady with the trolley frowns suspiciously but waddles on. Dan (still recovering) raises his eyebrow at Phil. Phil raises his back.

“So, we getting to the point now?” Dan says brashly. Phil scoffs. Dan’s blood is heating up, to a point where his lust goes before his shame. He’s going to be horny beyond belief soon.

“No,” Phil grins. Looking around quickly, he reaches back to Dan’s neck and places his thumb over a particular spot, eyeing it fiercely. “I know you want...” He brushes his thumb slowly there and Dan shivers, eyes darkening.

“...to know about the best type of wood for a cello.” It takes Dan a moment to register what Phil had said, what with his voice low (and delicious.) Phil looks stupidly pleased. Dan is sure his cheeks are pink so he frowns especially hard, which no doubt makes him look like an angry toddler. He slaps Phil’s arm away (instead of grabbing it like he yearns to-), and lingers in the window as Phil turns to walk away, hurriedly trying to devise the best plan of revenge. But he doesn’t get the chance to use it, because Phil literally starts talking about wood types, with no room for interruption, and won’t look at Dan. However, to Dan’s surprise, the topic becomes interesting.

“This is your passion,” Dan concludes.

“Wood?” Phil laughs, and Dan would make a joke of it, but right now this feels more important.

“No, idiot, this um, cabinetmaking and violin stuff. Instead of building sheds.”

Phil’s smile drops and he scratches his neck, shrugging. “Yeah, but it doesn’t pull the same kind of income. Not unless you’re the best of the best.”

They’ve walked through a carpark to the back of the row of shops. Dan hadn’t noticed, but before them are a line of lockers, to which Phil crouches down in front of one and fiddles with a key. The sun is setting above them, and the moderate temperature of the day is dropping. Dan hugs his arms around his body, tapping his feet.

“You’re young, you can become the best.”

He hears Phil laugh warmly.

“Maybe. Dad needs the help though.”

Dan tilts his head, tracking a bird with his eyes. “Mate, put yourself first.” The locker opens with a rumble of metal. Dan looks down, follows Phil into the shadows, and gasps. “Wow.”

The lightbulb fizzles and brightens the space so Dan can properly take in the shelves and surfaces full of tiny sculptures. There are woodland animals to mythical beasts, all carved delicately out of wood. Robins, badgers, foxes, deer; dragons, two-headed lions, griffons and creations Dan couldn’t even put a name to. Phil stands beside him, quiet, and Dan slaps him on the arm with two hands, repeatedly.

“Fuckssake, Phil, don’t try and make me stop encouraging you to follow your dreams and shit when you’re this good.”

“Ow,” Phil says lamely, putting a hand to where Dan slapped him, but he’s smiling. Dan steps forward without being asked and inspects the sculptures closer. “This is art,” he exclaims. He picks up a hedgehog, touching its spikes, and then a hare, feeling the smooth wood of its long ears. “Has your dad seen these?” Dan whirls around. He won’t put a reason to why he’s so heatedly defensive of Phil and his interests that go against his dad’s. Phil is pulling the door down. He stands up and looks a little uncomfortable, but Dan feels a bit like a runaway train.

“Phil.” He holds up an owl with huge, hollowed out eyes. As if Phil isn’t aware this is his passion.

“I’m glad you like them, Dan,” Phil says softly, moving close and lowering Dan’s hands. His eyes are clearly begging a change in conversation. Why did he bring him here if he didn’t want to talk about the abundant surroundings? Dan asks as much.

Phil had stepped away and now returns with a brown jacket, placing it around Dan’s shoulders. Phil gives Dan _a look_ which, in his distracted state, makes Dan blush.

“Right,” Dan mutters, oddly disappointed. He slumps down in the plastic chair behind him, pulling the jacket around his body. Phil sits down carefully on the opposite chair: an old, scuffed armchair. He drags it closer and then lifts his leg to gently kick Dan. Dan doesn’t respond to the footsie, and instead looks around his surroundings again. There are tools displayed on the wall behind him, and a very messy work bench beneath it. On Phil’s side there are pegs with aprons, gloves, and goggles dangling, a wicker box with what looks like a blanket and a screwed up jumper, and an old-fashioned radio with an empty bottle of coke on a small plastic table beside him. Beneath it, Dan notices an alarm clock. He wonders if Phil sometimes sleeps here; he speaks out loud again.

Phil shrugs. “Sometimes I work late.”

Something about the thought, and the thought that Phil has taken Dan here and not his house, plucks out a piece of information from Dan’s brain he’d forgotten. That Phil hasn’t yet come out to his dad. Dan feels awkward for a moment.

Tactless, he asks, “And do you often bring boys here?”

Phil has reached for a small half-finished sculpture; a creature Dan can’t quite identify yet. Phil smiles a little slyly and flicks his eyes to Dan.

“Jealous?”

Dan rolls his eyes, leaning back and crossing his arms. He cocks his head.

“Speaking of wood, a little birdie told me you have a talent for bringing local gays out of the woodwork.”

Slowly, he restarts the footsie, letting his slip-on shoe fall from his foot and rubbing his ankle against Phil’s.

Phil sighs dramatically and reaches out again to retrieve some kind of equally small tool. “What can I say, I’m irresistible.”

Dan considers it for a moment, and then snorts. “It’s the sexy wood talk.”

“Yes, boys do like my wood,” Phil remarks, to which Dan rolls his eyes again and slips further down in his seat.

“Go on then,” Dan mumbles, concentrating on tracing his toes up the inside of Phil’s leg. Phil looks at him for the first time since picking up the sculpture, but quickly looks back down again, gently continuing to carve the little creature into existence. Dan goes and proves Phil exactly right, becoming alarmingly transfixed by the gentleness of Phil’s hands.

“For this, the best woods are Aspen...butternut...black walnut for some. Oak. Basswood is best for beginners. It’s got to be soft.”

Dan is about to press his heel to what Dan wants to be hard, but Phil catches him, tool in hand (which, yes, totally sounds like a euphemism.) Pressing his thumb into the flesh of Dan’s foot, he smiles at Dan’s pout.

“Are you bored, Daniel?”

 _Why the sudden penchant for saying Daniel?_ “No,” Dan answers coyly, “I think you’re very interesting.”

The light seems dimmer now; with a glance to the window above the door, Dan sees the sun has nearly completely set. The room has a warm glow to it. It should be cold, but Dan is only getting hotter. Hot enough to shrug the jacket soon (if only he wasn’t maybe-kind-of surreptitiously smelling it-) Biting his lip, he glances over Phil’s arms a little.

Sensing the quiet going on, Dan notices Phil staring down at his sculpture distractedly, now concealed behind his hand. His grip on Dan’s foot has loosened. Prematurely, Dan’s about to kick his chest, but Phil must have been thinking, not distracted, because what he says next (after a short, very obviously fake laugh), appears both cold and considered.

“And I’ll pretend not to the hear sarcasm.”

Dan pauses.

“Phil,” he starts, demanding Phil to really listen. “You know I’m already impressed, don’t you?”

It’s more candid than Dan would usually go for (and now especially wishes to reveal, given his supposed detox), but Phil has that effect on him. Phil’s face softens, which effectively melts Dan too.

“But I’m not your usual type, am I.”

He’s talking softly now too, and he doesn’t ask it. Why he feels the need to push his apparent inferiority, Dan doesn’t know.

“I’m much more of a loser than you know. I’m like trying really, really hard here.”

“I know,” Dan nearly whispers. He does and he doesn’t. Dan is used to shy men, and he’s used to forward men, but _charming_ men he is not, and maybe Phil’s charming eclipsed his awkward so much to Dan that he didn’t see it. He likes being admired, being intimidating, at times. He’s fed up of being used and picked up like it’s nothing. He loves losing his power like this; he loves being respected like this.

Phil has dropped his foot and is frowning as he carves his sculpture more, brushing little pieces of wood to the floor. He blows on it lightly.

“I would love to be an artist, and not be...a sheep, or a coward, really. But...yeah. I’m-“

“Too selfless?”

“-Scared.”

Phil blows on it again and meets Dan’s eyes. They stare at each other for a while, and Dan’s heart responds instantly, speeding up. He talks even softer than before, somehow feeling the need to.

“Are we confessing now?”

Phil’s mouth slips into a smile, both self-deprecating and grateful. Its sweetness radiates across to Dan, who, like putty, lets Phil move his leg to the ground so he can stand up.

“I’m also very romantic,” he says over his shoulder, fiddling with something in the corner. An actually sarcastic ‘ _really’_ is on the tip of Dan’s tongue, with his eyes on the grey concrete walls and the sawdust covered floor, but it dies there because seconds later a new white light glows down on him and Dan looks up to find a string of fairy lights strung above him that he’d failed to notice before.

“Yup,” Phil comments proudly, as if he’d heard Dan’s unspoken response. Dan is still staring, truthfully a little bewildered, when he hears Phil shuffle closer. “And here.” Before Dan knows it, he’s being handed the sculpture Phil’s been working on. So convinced it must be an animal like everything else in the room, he hadn’t been able to see the true shape of it: a delicate heel, made for _Dan._

“For me?” He says like a fucking idiot. Phil laughs. Dan stares at the hands in front of him, now empty of the tiny, beautiful piece of art resting in his palm. They’re more beautiful. He has an overwhelming urge to kiss them. The ridiculous thought that Phil’s so not a lumberjack, but so much sexier than that hits him. He angles his head up at Phil. He is certain he looks like a goldfish.

“Alright, Cinderella,” he tries to laugh. Phil is smiling as if he’s been smiling for a while. Dan is blushing.

“Are you inferring that I’m Prince Charming?”

Dan gapes, then looks down at the tiny heel again. Phil fills the space, joking about ‘ _I wouldn’t try to wear it, though.’_ Dan is afraid to move, as if the single shifting of his body will break it. Phil laughs again, apparently having noticed.

“It’s wood, not glass, Daniel. I know I’m a really convincing Prince, but-“

“Shut up.” Dan holds it a little tighter, though still treating it as precious, which it _is,_ and stands up. “Shut up, shut up.” Phil stands back and holds his hands up. Dan looks around, a little wildly, to find a spot to place his heel. At the same time, he kicks off his other shoe (with decidedly more force – it spirals to hit the door with a clap like thunder.)

“We’re not going to the party, right,” Dan breathes hotly, walking Phil backwards to the chair. Phil collapses into it with an ‘ _oof’_ and surprised grin. Dan settles on top of him, into the space where Phil should place his hands but is instead hovering them. He tears Phil’s jacket off his shoulders and begins fishing out the contents of his pockets. _Phone, keys, gum, Vaseline..._ Shoving the condom into Phil’s mouth, he discards the rest on the table. Phil splutters.

“Dan-“ He removes the condom from his teeth. “Dan.” Finally placing his hands on him – on his thighs, not his arse – he dips his head to catch Dan’s eyes. He smiles – _gorgeous._ “I’m not going anywhere, slow down.”

Dan wriggles, definitely hot, lifting his jumper a little to let the air in. Phil’s eyes spring to the slither of exposed skin but look up again.

“Hey...hey.” Dan doesn’t know why he finds Phil’s hushing so comforting, so essential... His whole body relaxes from a tense state he didn’t even know he’d been in. Time slows down. The room is most certainly darker, despite the fairy lights. Dan feels a little dizzy, somehow. The altitude is too high, here, on Phil’s thighs... He’s all light-headed. Yet heavy. How visceral their two bodies are together. All his blood seems to be in his head, its roaring in his ears. Phil’s eyes skim him and he places one hand up to Dan’s arm, as if gathering the pieces of him together. Dan removes it and kisses it like he wanted to, right in the warm, fleshy centre of his palm. Phil’s eyes darken on him, growing weighty and lustful. Dan lets the stickiness of his lips sound between them and lingers them there, breathing.

_Do I own your heart yet? Do you want to own mine? You can._

He’s not going to say that. Why? Well, because...because...

“Are you going to confess?”

It’s a frightening, mind-reading remark until Dan remembers what he’d said to Phil earlier.

“I feel this is unfair, otherwise...” he whispers, trailing the backs of his fingers down Dan’s other arm and sitting back a little, maybe inviting Dan to lean closer.

Phil probably-definitely means for Dan to dirty talk right now, but all Dan can think is _you don’t want me; you can do better than me; you’ll hurt me; I’m needy, I’m hard work, I’m fucked up, I’m terrified._

“ _Father, forgive me_ ,” Dan whisper-drawls instead, sliding down off the chair, away from Phil’s hands, to his knees and to the sharp intake of breath. Phil’s hands hover again as Dan mouths hot and wet against Phil’s erection. The cloying anxiety begins to dissipate as his hormones rush and his mouth feels the shape of Phil’s cock. It hardens further and further at Dan’s ministrations, completely straining against the fabric. Dan rubs his hands up each of Phil’s thighs, and, clearly anticipating Dan to go deeper (well, literally), he threads his fingers into Dan’s hair and sinks a little in his seat. Dan lifts his mouth and skims his fingertips around Phil’s hips, beneath his top and above his jeans, towards his fly where he slowly, slowly, pulls the zip down and flicks open the button. Ready, Phil shifts, but Dan quells him, trailing a single finger over the hardened flesh beneath the now thin fabric of his boxers and then promptly standing up.

“Fucking tease-“ Phil pants, eyes shut and grinning, but when he sees how Dan is waiting, how his eyes are watching him, his face freezes.

“Are you gonna dance for me.”

Dan nods. Phil looks completely taken off-guard; his lips part, and flushed, hair somehow already messy, he inhales shakily. In one hand, he’s still holding the condom in a fist, which now tightens.

“Pretend there’s music,” Dan whispers.

“I can put the radio on, if you like-“ Phil starts but stops as Dan crosses his arms, teasing the hem of his jumper. Though this is Dan in his element, he’s nervous; he wants to be good for Phil, he wants Phil to watch his every movement. Slowly lifting the fabric, he lets the cool air wash over his heated skin.

“Bad bitch,” Phil says, smirking, which completely surprises Dan until he remembers the jumper he’d been wearing, now dropped.

“Mm,” Dan hums, observing the way Phil has brought his hands together in two excited fists against his mouth. Running each hand up his chest, he watches as Phil follows each one. Striding over, he draws one fist from Phil’s mouth and forces it between his legs. Phil lets him, watching, star-struck, as his fingers are led to Dan’s zipper. Fumbling, he undoes it and then, with huge eyes, watches as his hand is guided up Dan’s chest. Allowing Phil to hook onto Dan’s shoulders, Dan leans into Phil’s space and hovers his lips along Phil’s jaw. He pries the top from Phil’s back without Phil hardly noticing. Taking in Phil’s bare chest, Dan smiles. Phil smiles back, chuckling lowly. His chest is so visibly moving with laboured breath.

Turning, Dan backs into Phil, curving his neck and twirling Phil’s top lazily. Its edges flick both their thighs. Capturing it in his other hand, he stretches it, which flexes his arms as he arches his back.

“Have I said you’re like, mind-blowingly gorgeous yet?”

Dan’s heart flutters at the words breathed hot against his neck. He turns his face into them. “No,” he whispers, grinding his hips back into Phil’s hovering, wondrous hands. “Say it again.”

He can feel the proximity of Phil’s lips to his. He loves the feeling of his naked back against Phil’s naked chest. How he notices his own aching erection now.

“You’re mind-blowingly gorgeous, Daniel.”

“Daniel,” Dan muses, pulling away just as Phil’s hands tentatively descend on his hips. Standing between Phil’s legs, he drops Phil’s top and pushes his thumbs beneath the waist of his trousers, teasing them. He pulls them down slowly but swiftly.

“How do you do that without falling over,” Phil whispers ever so quietly.

He has to bite his lip to stop the word _practice_ escaping.

“Well, I had you distracted,” Dan says, turning back to face Phil and correctly finding his eyes firmly attached to what was his ass. Now he teases the waist of his boxers. The first vocal reaction, Phil groans and pulls Dan down to straddle him again. Dan goes freely, giggling. Now Phil doesn’t hesitate to put his hands on Dan’s firm cheeks. Firm from dancing, but still enough for Phil to press his fingers into. Dan sighs lowly, heart pumping. He tosses his head and begins to grind this way round, but at the movement Phil’s hands disappear. They reappear on the small of his back, gathering Dan closer. Dan leans into Phil willingly. To Dan’s surprise, one hand finds his face, grazing the side of it with the back of Phil’s fingers. Dan stills.

Phil’s eyes tilt to Dan’s lips, which part without being told to. _Ok, kiss me,_ Dan begs. He lifts his hands from Phil’s thighs and cups Phil’s own face. Dan is no longer in control. Phil’s hand moves around Dan's neck to push into the back of his hair. Their foreheads find each other. Phil’s in no hurry. He looks over Dan, as if Dan is remarkable. Dan completely and utterly feels embarrassed. His hands drop, sliding, to Phil’s neck.

The kiss comes with Dan’s eyes closed and his lips open, hopeful. It’s soft, plush, and gone in a second then back again. It’s searching, full and all-encompassing, complete yet insatiable. For a kiss, for a _first kiss,_ it’s far too profound and demanding. Phil teases Dan’s lips open and pushes his tongue in, to which Dan moans shamelessly, balling his hands into loose fists against Phil’s chest, and letting his weight completely fall into him. Never has a _kiss_ turned him on so much.

Dan is wholly distracted when Phil’s lips pull away and he blinks his eyes open to see Phil’s hands hooked into his tiny fists. Without thinking, Dan opens his hands and holds Phil’s. Phil is smiling gently but brightly and Dan stares at it. The moment stretches and then snaps. Dan sits up, staring at their hands.

“Do you wanna touch my dick now?”

Phil laughs, eyebrows shooting up. Dan laughs back breathily. Face settling into a smirk, Phil drops Dan’s hands, leaving Dan with the condom, which he only notices a few long seconds later. Phil sits up, almost pressing their chests together, and runs his hands up Dan’s thighs like Dan had Phil. God, he’s horny now.

Phil dives down to kiss wet kisses into the side of Dan’s belly. Dan grips into Phil’s hair, already unbalanced, to which Phil pulls up and zeroes in on Dan’s mouth again. Dan kisses back hopelessly, whining. Phil moans back, placing a hand on Dan’s cheek again. He pulls back, pecks, and pecks again, leaving Dan dazed before going back to kissing and nipping his body, now at the crook of his neck. He slips a hand into Dan’s boxers. Dan drops his head backwards and Phil giggles into him. Probably because Dan is dramatic and loud. Dan skates his hands around Phil’s chest before gripping a little at the smattering of hair in the centre of it.

The large hand wrapped around him, slowly moving up and down him, is more than overwhelming. _For a kiss, for a hand..._ Dan thinks incoherently. Phil is working a love-bite into the space beneath Dan’s ear and Dan is forgetting himself – which is not like Dan – when Phil hums something desperate and shifts back so he can lick a stripe over Dan’s nipple. Dan gasps.

“Ok I need you,” Phil breathes all in one rush, moving his hand on Dan faster. Dan opens his eyes to see Phil’s face completely flushed, almost making him less pale. His eyes are zig-zagging all down Dan’s body.

“Are we fucking now,” Dan breathes himself, not able to produce more than this weak, raspy voice. He shakes himself, brushing his sweaty hair from his face before tearing the condom open with his teeth. He starts a slow grind over the hardness beneath him.

“Er, if you want,” Phil answers, dazed eyes following Dan’s teeth. “We, I mean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Just-“ Dan takes Phil’s spare hand and brings two fingers to his lips. Phil breathes hard and wanks Dan faster, as if he were pleasuring himself at the sight of Dan sucking his fingers, leaving lots of saliva.

“I do have lube too, underneath the blanket.”

“Dirty bastard.” Dan wipes his mouth. Phil swipes his thumb over the tip of Dan’s leaking cock at that. Dan hops off to shimmy his pants down and retrieve the hidden lube. After standing and having his blood rush back and settle through him, he considers how this is really happening, how everything that just happened really happened, and how maybe he’ll be fucking Phil all summer if this goes as well as it has so far. He ignores the rest of his feelings. Phil has been tracking Dan’s now naked everything as is apparent when he returns. He’s pushed down his own jeans and is sat back stroking the slick flesh of his erection. Dan watches the head disappear in and out of his fist and bites his lip.

Anchoring himself to Phil’s shoulder, Dan lowers himself back into Phil’s lap and with a sudden urge, pours a little lube onto his own fingers. Phil says nothing, simply watches hungrily with his startlingly piercing eyes as Dan lifts onto his knees and, with keen precision, brushes a finger to his hole. The movement of Phil’s hand blurs into the background as Dan slips the finger inside with ease. The wet silkiness sparks pleasure already throughout him as his hazy focus stares down at his dick so close to Phil’s. Dragging Phil’s wet fingers over without looking, he bites his lip as Phil brushes over the sensitive skin of his perineum. His eyes close when Phil presses his finger to the space Dan’s occupies. The stretch makes Dan inexplicably horny as Phil pushes in.

Phil looks just as overwhelmed, going by his parted lips. But his careful eyes watch Dan closely. “Good,” Dan answers before Phil asks. “Ah, another.”

Notably, Phil’s hand stills on his cock. With the third finger, the silence of the room becomes impossibly apparent. The slick, sticky sounds sound so goddamn filthy Dan moans his loudest yet. It’s not even about putting on a show. He removes his finger, leaving Phil to it and staring down at Phil fiercely, taking over the rhythm on Phil’s cock. It’s big and Dan wants it to fill him; he pictures it nudging the back of his throat. Phil adds back the third himself and crooks his fingers as he plunges in and out slowly. Their breathing is loud between them as they stare at each other’s lips. Phil winds his other hand to start back on Dan’s length, but that soon gets to be too much.

“Now,” he breathes, incapable of more. Phil understands; he draws his fingers out with a tug to the skin that makes Dan gasp at the back of his throat. Phil moves his hands up and down Dan’s hips and thighs distractedly. They both watch intensely as Dan rolls the condom over Phil’s length. Dan glances up when he’s done and when Phil meets his eyes, he nods. Phil runs a hand all the way down from the back of Dan’s neck down his spine to his ass. It pulls him closer; Dan braces his arms outstretched on Phil’s shoulders, needing that expanse of skin to meet the cool air. Dan helps Phil manoeuvre and when Phil is there Dan closes his eyes, turning his face to the glow of the ceiling.

The first sensation is one of burning and then that immense, maddening feeling of fullness. Phil waits when he’s bottomed out, lifted up from his seat and breathing with effort to stay still. Dan taps him twice with his arm to say _move_ and moans stupidly, loud enough for any neighbours to laugh or birds to scatter, when Phil pulls out an inch to thrust back in again. Phil is cradling Dan’s lower back and begins to kiss the clavicle in front of him as his tentative thrusts turn harder and faster. The sweat beneath Dan’s thighs sticks and smacks against the top of Phil’s as they move together. With the first rush of building pleasure, Dan inhales sharply and grabs onto the hairs at the back of Phil’s neck. Phil looks up and in a crash their lips meet open-mouthed.

Phil’s thumbs press around Dan’s waist into the softness of his stomach, dipping down the bones of his hips. Dan begins to move faster, tripping fingers down Phil’s chest as he bounces. Phil exhales as if he’s been holding his breath and lets Dan do all the work for a moment. He grabs onto Dan’s ass and licks a tongue around one nipple and then the other. Panting and legs quivering, Dan rushes hands up to tilt Phil’s head back in time to kiss him. Phil pulls him impossibly closer and thrusts deep but shallow, hitting Dan _there_ again and again and again. He knows Phil comes by the stuttering of his hips and kisses him hard, swallowing the moan. A sweaty, shaky hand finds Dan’s cock and it doesn’t take much until Dan’s coming into the warm palm cupped around it. His muscles contract around Phil still buried to the hilt inside him; the strength of his orgasm silences him and his mouth screams a silent scream as he claws Phil’s back, wrapping around him.

Coming down, the exhaustion hits alarmingly fast. Dan almost aches to move off Phil. His head is dropped over Phil’s shoulder, his body heaving. Phil lifts Dan off him slowly, who feels heavier and heavier by the second. The brain cells reconnect slowly in his head. Dan is a useless lump as Phil takes off the condom and wipes the mess from his palm (on his top, Dan thinks, and doesn’t comment.) He returns to Dan gently, patting a hand on his back and placing a tiny kiss to his shoulder. Dan drags his head around without barely opening his eyes and kisses Phil. So many kisses.

Phil brushes Dan’s hair away with his thumb three times as they kiss and then pushes a hand into his heart. Well, into the centre of his chest, but his heart feels so close to the surface Phil might as well have touched it.

“Wanna see something?”

“If it’s your cock, I’ve seen it. ‘Ts nice.”

“Noo-“ He pulls some kind of lever and the chair beneath them jolts and opens. Dan hugs into Phil like a baby. Remaining close, he puts an arm around Phil’s neck and twists sideways, drawing his legs up.

“Are you suggesting we sleep here,” Dan asks suspiciously, frowning. Phil pokes the crease between Dan’s brows and then lifts his chin. Dan stares into his beautiful, beautiful blue eyes ( _I mean they’re a nice shade of blue-_ ) and watches as Phil nudges him with his nose and kisses him once.

“You wanna walk home now?” Phil mumbles, eyes flicking between Dan’s pouty lips and his eyes. He smooths a hand up to rest lazily on Dan’s ass. Dan tilts his head.

“Do you ever bottom?”

Phil frowns but smiles with amusement. “I have.” He eyes Dan curiously but Dan doesn’t expand on it. He sits up, stretches, and pats Phil’s chest.

“I’m hungry.”

“Those were two separate statements, right?”

Dan looks back, perched on Phil’s legs. Phil’s gaze ambles to the tips of Dan’s curls. Dan can see the incentive in his eyes to touch one.

“I’m not sleeping on your sweaty butt chair.”

Phil regards him silently for a moment, and then slips down and stretches out, smiling, dragging Dan back down with him. Dan frowns, hands like paws on Phil’s chest. Phil’s (lovely blue) eyes flit over Dan’s face again. Dan’s heart feels dangerously full, therefore he frowns.

“Since you didn’t take me on a date first, you at least gonna walk me home?”

Phil looks afraid for a moment, which makes Dan smile devilishly.

“Can I get in bed with you?”

Dan extracts himself without answering. Something about the air in here suddenly feels suffocating.

_(Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thu)_


End file.
